


Grey Sand

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dry Humping, M/M, Merpeople
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-19 15:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14876838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prince Noctis should know better than to swim too near the humans.





	1. Slate

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “noct is the sea king regis's only son, the pearl of the 7 seas, with eyes clear-blue like water and a tale as black as the deepest ocean trench, treasured for his beauty and kindness and compassion etc, and very sheltered. he falls in love with a human after rescuing them from near-drowning, goes to the sea witch ardyn in order to become human. ardyn has his own designs against the sea king and sees this as an opportunity to get back at regis, etc. it's up to you who the love interest is! the love interest doesn't even have to be royalty. i just wanna read about some gorgeous merman!noctis” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=10310795#cmt10310795). Also, this is my 100th fill there, so imma try for something long, even though I don’t have the time, so sorry in advance if updates are slow! Rating and some tags are for future chapters.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or The Little Mermaid (which this is semi-based on) or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Noctis breaches the surface and sucks in a breath—it’s been too long since he’s been able to fill his lungs with _air_. It bubbles into him, light and tingling, strange but more than welcome. After another harrowing round of _princely_ duties: dull council meetings, endless studies, and Gladiolus’ merciless training, the exotic outer-world tastes like _freedom_. Noctis drinks it in. He tilts his head back to feel the dying sunlight on his face. The evening air is crisp and cool, and it beckons him ever onwards.

In smooth, languid strokes, Noctis drifts forward. He’s already beyond his father’s borders, but breaking that line is half of the appeal. Sometimes Noctis isn’t even sure if he does this for the freakish sight of _humans_ or simply the childish thrill of defying his father’s wishes. Either way, he gives into the temptation. He swims towards the surface world, until the strange little bungalow jutting off the beach is within view. _Gladin_ , he’s heard them call it, in a language just like his. But they sometimes speak it with a funny accent, and from the waist down, they look nothing like him. 

A pair of them is sitting on the docks tonight, their long, gangly legs kicking idly about the water. One is a woman who laughs and grabs the other’s arm, and that one’s a man that leans into her. She meets him for a kiss, and in no time at all, they’re lost in each other’s mouths. They often do that. The first time that Noctis saw such an intimate display, so open and public, it shocked him to his core. But he’s used to it now. They wear so many layers of ‘clothes,’ but then they strip most of that away when they near Galdin’s shores, and Noctis has seen all manner of things from the meeting of their odd, scale-less bodies.

The man and the woman aren’t wearing much, but as their kisses deepen, the man slides his hand up the woman’s dress, and soon she’s in his lap, and Noctis has to turn away. He knows that they won’t see him—they never do—his dark hair blends in with the sky-lit water, and he always knows when to duck beneath it. But he tries not to take advantage of their ignorance. As much fun as it is to watch the humans play, seeing them fully explore one another’s bodies is another matter. It’d be wrong. And it makes him feel even more isolated than he already is. Sometimes he wonders if humans have _princes_ , and if even those express their sexuality so freely with anyone they choose. Somehow he can’t picture them cooped up, over-burdened, and hyper-scrutinized, only able to sneak away on rare occasions, and even then having to swim so far as another species’ land for any sense of relief.

Noctis doesn’t bother swimming along the stretch of beach on either side of Galdin. There are only a few other structures along the way: houses that new humans often come and go from, none that have ever kept Noctis’ attention long. He retreats far enough back that the details of the couple become obscured, melding into one distant figure. Noctis wades in place as he considers what to do with the rest of his night—he probably has a few hours left before Cor shows up with the evening’s reports.

While he decides, the water ripples ominously around him. He ignores it at first, because it’s become all too common for the waters just outside their borders. The latest council reports have been full of turbulence. Noctis’ father keeps the trouble out of Lucis, and that’s all that really matters. The humans look as though they’ve coped just fine. But then the sky cracks, and the two humans on the dock rise and run, disappearing back into the suspended building. The wind picks up, rushing past Noctis to rally against the shore, and the thin trees bend under its might. Noctis’ black hair dances across his eyes. He stays surfaced anyway, finding the sudden change sinfully exhilarating. He knows he should duck under. Then a fork of lighting stabs down at the beach, and an ear-splitting clap of thunder follows.

That’s enough to break the spell. He pulls away from the scene, turning into an oncoming wave. As a child, it might’ve carried him right off, but Noctis has grown into a stronger man than most give him credit for. He fights against it and swims lower, avoiding the ruckus of the next one. The boom of thunder is muffled but still audible. The light thins as swirling clouds overtake the stars. Noctis heads home. 

He hasn’t gotten far when a new shadow passes over him, and the noise of a stalling motor halts his tracks. He knows enough of boats from watching them, and he can tell from the underside that it’s a small craft, probably just for personal fishing. As Noctis watches it, the motor dies completely, the boat careening to one side and rocking as another wave shakes it. Noctis’ breath catches. This far out from shore, in these kinds of waters, whoever’s in that boat won’t last long. Humans are _weak_ in the water. That knowledge spurs him to action.

He knows that humans are dangerous. He swims for the surface anyway. He knows they hunt and kill any creatures that are different than them, and that’s usually just mindless beasts, but he’s heard all the stories of what they’d do if someone like Noctis turned up in one of their nets. In the midst of the storm, Noctis doesn’t think about that. He pops up around the boat’s side, only a tail’s length away. It’s enough to see everything.

A single human stands in the boat, bent over the silent motor, cursing once over the wind as it beats his ashen-brown hair against his face. He wears spectacles—small, clear things over his eyes that Noctis has never learned the purpose of. The man is tall and thin, dressed in tight black pants and a fitted purple shirt, covering far too much skin, and a jacket’s even draped over the boat’s side. Another rock of the waves, and that jacket slips out. It floats for a moment, soaking through, and Noctis reaches out to catch it before it sinks.

The man doesn’t notice Noctis. He’s turned mostly away, and his chiseled face is focused solely on the motor. He must know that it’s his only chance to get back to land. Each time a wave crashes against the side of the boat, he has to stop and grab the sides, trying to steady himself. It’s only a few minutes that Noctis actually witnesses the scene, but it seems to slow and stretch out as he studies the man before him: a new specimen that he’s never seen before, and one that captures his attention more than any other human has.

More than any other being has. The man is physically handsome, his harried yet dexterous movements strangely graceful, his very aura captivating. But Noctis has only just concretely thought that fascination when another wave, five times the size of its predecessor, smashes into the tiny vehicle. Noctis is tossed aside with it, and for a moment, he’s blinded by the rush of spray and foam, turned head over tail and whipped away. The jacket’s ripped out of his hand. When he reorients himself, he finds the boat overturned above him, and the human sinking away.

The human isn’t moving. A thin, red mist trails out above him. Noctis’ heart nearly stops.

Without a second thought to all the warnings of a lifetime, he lunges for the man. He makes it in record time and catches the human by the middle, wrapping both arms around his slender waist, and Noctis’ tail beats at the water to fight the man’s weight and the tide. The man is limp in his arms, and a part of Noctis fears that he’s too late—that the human was knocked into his boat too hard and he’s already dead. Noctis surfaces anyway. He drags the man up, certain to keep his head above the water, and swims for the shore as fast as possible.

It proves a difficult task, fighting the raging sea with the weight of a full-grown human in his arms. Noctis manages. He’s earned more muscles than Gladiolus gives him credit for, and he stubbornly resists the odds. It becomes a cold, bitter fight, but eventually, Noctis’ tail brushes the sand.

He drags the unconscious man up it. The tide races in around them, only to wash away again, then return with a vengeance. Noctis drags the man as far as he can, until he’s fully emerged, and the water’s just licking at the man’s polished boots. There are no other humans on the beach, which is probably better for Noctis, but worrying for this human—Noctis has no medical knowledge, and even less of human anatomy. He leans over the man, tail curled protectively against the man’s side, and lets his hand fall to the trim chest below.

He can feel the man’s heart beating. That’s some comfort. He thinks the man is breathing. He almost wishes for another flash of lightning just for a better look at the man’s face—the skies have become black. But the weather’s dying out again, dissipating as suddenly as it came. Noctis cups the man’s face and thumbs his cheek, willing him to open his eyes. 

After too long, he does.

They part ever so slightly, green and hazy, peering uncomprehendingly up at Noctis through damp glasses. Noctis slumps and almost laughs with his relief. 

But it also brings back a sullen reality: _he has to leave._

He opens his mouth and wants to apologize, wants to explain that he can’t stay—if anyone sees him, he’ll become a prize for local hunters. Maybe this man is even a hunter, and he’ll stab Noctis as soon as he reaches his knife. Somehow, Noctis doesn’t think so. But he knows the possibility. And he knows that his life isn’t his own to risk this heavily—he belongs as much to Lucis as he does to himself. 

He withdraws his hand from the man’s chilled cheek. He resists the urge to take in one last look, to examine up close the attractive figure before him and become entranced again. He uses his arms to push himself back towards the lapping water, and the next time the tide comes in, he uses the slick momentum to drive him back into the sea.

He doesn’t look back, even though he wants to. He swims home while his heart pounds frantically away.

* * *

Ignis lifts a tentative hand to his head. It all feels damp. He can’t tell if it’s from the water or blood. His head is swimming. But he tilts it anyway, looking past his own body and down along the shore.

Like in a dream, his saviour is drifting away. He can only see the back of it: lean shoulder blades and strong arms cutting easily through the dying waves. Black hair matches the sleek, extensive ebony tail that emerges from the surface on every kick. The translucent ends glisten in the starlight, every bit as beautiful as the gleaming scales below. But the face that lingers in Ignis’ memory is more beautiful still. If he tried, he doesn’t think he could imagine a more gorgeous creature.

That being dips under, and suddenly, ripples are all that’s left. Ignis’ gaze lingers anyway, hoping for another glimpse, even a small, far off one, of his mysterious hero.

When that he knows it isn’t happening, his head rolls back into place. A ragged sigh tears out of his lips. In the absence of the mesmerizing dream, the reality of his body floods back into him. It’s heavy, cold, and drenched to the bone, aching in a few places, and his head’s pounding. But he’s _alive_.

A flicker of white draws his attention, and he look aside to see a chunk of painted wood wash up beside him. He doesn’t doubt it’s from his boat. He wouldn’t be surprised if the storm crashed it into rocks and tore it all to pieces. _He_ probably should’ve been in pieces. He should’ve stuck to the shallow shores for fish instead of daring the deeper waters, especially with the sea as violent it’s been of late.

Ignis likes to think himself an intelligent man. He should’ve known better. And he knows he shouldn’t have survived that. 

And a merman shouldn’t have saved him, but he thinks that’s what he saw. Another pang from his skull, and he corrects himself: what he _thought_ he saw. It must’ve been a hallucination. Slowly, he pushes himself up on his elbows. He needs to get home or to the Quay and examine his injury. He knows that. He sits up carefully, then stands, all the while casting hopeful looks down at the water. The beautiful face won’t leave his mind.

It’s ridiculous, of course. His love of the water’s clearly started playing tricks on him. And maybe it was a foolish notion to use Galdin as a slow transition to Altissia, where such virulent storms will be all the fiercer. 

But the being he saw felt like an angel: a message from the Six to stay. As the wind settles around him, Ignis murmurs, “Thank you,” to the sea, and then he heads for home.


	2. Obsidian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for slight Ardyn/Noctis and Ardyn being a creep in this chapter.

Prompto still finds the palace every bit as beautiful as the day that he first saw it, when the then-adorable prince of Lucis oh-so-casually invited him over. Prompto distinctly remembers being too awed to say _yes_ , and he just wordlessly swam after Noctis past all the many guards. The towering corridors inside made his eyes practically bulge out of his head. The first time he met the _king_ , Prompto couldn’t stop his tail from shaking.

But that was years ago, and now Noctis’ private chambers show signs of Prompto’s use—a cheesy gift here, a dumb etching there, and two-player games on several shelves. Stretched out on the lounge, elaborately carved out of pink and orange coral, Prompto moves his pearly figurine across the checkered board. This time, he thinks he has a sound strategy, but he’s still prepared for his prince to thoroughly trounce him. 

For once, Noctis doesn’t do so right away. He doesn’t even look at the board, even when Prompto prods, “Your turn.” He’s got his chin in his palm, leant on his folded tail, eyes cast out the window, but Prompto can tell they aren’t taking in the scenery. Noctis occasionally gets that far-away look in his eyes, and then Prompto will usually tease him about being such a dreamer, but this isn’t that. There’s something more... _sullen_ than usual.

And if there’s one thing Prompto hates, it’s seeing a sullen Noctis. It doesn’t matter that Noctis is rich beyond measure and beautiful beyond words: Prompto doesn’t suffer any jealousy. He just wants Noctis to be _happy_. He’s used to a reserved, distracted Noctis. But something about today crosses the line. 

His red-gold tail flicks out to nudge at Noctis’ around the board, and he pushes, “ _Hey_.”

Noctis grunts and glances over, frowning. Prompto tries, “Just tell me, dude.”

“Tell you what?”

“Whatever’s bugging you.”

Noctis shrugs like it’s nothing, and that might work on someone who doesn’t _know_ him, but Prompto does. He knows that whatever it is, it’s big. He whines, “Noooct...”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I thought we were friends.”

Noctis rolls his eyes. But then his gaze flickers to the door, and Prompto looks over his shoulder to check—it’s firmly shut. Nyx or another guard is probably floating just outside. When Noctis glances at the window next, clearly checking that no one’s dared swim too close, Prompto knows he’s won. 

Despite how little interest Noctis showed their game, he lifts the weighted board carefully up and sets it on the floor without disturbing any of the pieces. That leaves a fair space between them that Prompto eagerly closes, shuffling right up to Noctis in preparation for conspiratory whispers. Sure enough, when Noctis does talk, it’s dead quiet, and Prompto instantly knows why.

“I went to see the humans again.”

Prompto freezes, fixing Noctis with wide eyes. Noctis doesn’t seem bothered by his reaction in the slightest. Prompto already finds himself biting his tongue, even though he wants to squawk: _why?_

He knows why. Noctis feels cooped up in a gilded cage, too sheltered for his own good, even though he has everything he could ever ask for. And Noctis doesn’t know what it’s _like_ outside of Lucis’ borders. He isn’t from the shallow pools that Prompto’s parents rescued him from, and he’s never seen a mermaid gutted by hunters. Everybody _knows_ , of course, but hearing that humans are monsters isn’t the same as _seeing_ it. 

He still understands Noctis’ curiosity. He does. And sometimes he has the same yearning for _adventure_ , but he wishes he’d been with Noctis for it, and Gladiolus too, and maybe a dozen other royal guards. Noctis is quiet for a moment. Maybe he can see the unspoken distress in Prompto’s eyes.

When it’s clear that Prompto’s not going to snap at him like anyone else would, Noctis adds, “I touched one.”

“You _what_?”

“There was a storm,” Noctis explains, perfectly calm, as though it’s nothing, when it’s definitely _something_. “I wasn’t that close to land, but when the storm came, I saw a boat caught in it. There was a human man aboard it, and the storm threw him overboard. He sank without even fighting it. I saved him.”

Again, he waits, but Prompto doesn’t have anything to add. He just stares at Noctis, frozen with shock. Noctis stresses, “He would’ve died,” and Prompto knows what’s coming. Despite Noctis’ attitude, he’s wholly compassionate. His kindness is part of what will make him such a good king someday. Assuming it doesn’t get him killed before then. “I saved him. I dragged him onto the shore. He was breathing, but he was barely conscious. I don’t know if he really saw me.”

For a moment, Noctis’ eyes harden, practically defying Prompto to say something. Anyone else would. 

When Prompto still doesn’t, Noctis softens. He casts another furtive glance outside the window, then murmurs, “He was really... handsome.”

“...Noct...”

“I can’t stop thinking about him, Prom.”

Finally, Prompto breaks. The will to be a good friend loses to fear for Noctis’ life, and Prompto mumbles, “That’s super dangerous, dude. He could’ve killed you. Just because some weird human’s hot doesn’t mean he’s not a threat. You don’t know them...”

“I don’t know him,” Noctis agrees, a hint of a growl in his voice. “And that’s just the problem.”

Prompto doesn’t meet the challenge. It gives Noctis a frustrated grunt. 

“Look, I just said I’m _thinking_ about him, okay? And I _wish_ I _could_ get to know him.”

“But you have to think of your safety; it’s important...”

“So’s living.” Noctis’ hard glare melts Prompto right down. “Is it so wrong to just want a chance? To want freedom?”

For a long moment, they have something of a stare-off, where Noctis eyes him defiantly and Prompto just sort of wilts. It takes a lot for Prompto to manage a weak, “...Is this about freedom... or a hot guy?”

Noctis doesn’t answer. He makes a frustrated noise and turns back to the window, slumping back into his palm. Just like that, he’s back to sulking in silence, and Prompto’s left sitting there, torn between allegiances.

He casts a forlorn look at their game and wishes they were just laughing and playing it. But he knows how Noctis gets. And he knows that nothing he says will keep Noctis from sneaking out again, even though Noctis’ tail is a giant target for the humans. He also knows he messed up, and his chances of getting invited on the next excursion are pretty dismal.

Thinking of the bordering lands, where the king’s rule doesn’t keep away the storms, does put a new thought in Prompto’s head. He tries not to dwell on it, because he knows in his gut it’ll make everything worse, but the more he looks at Noctis’ bitter face, the more it nags at him.

Finally, he mumbles, “You know... there is... _him_...”

Noctis lifts an eyebrow, and Prompto swallows, muttering the traitorous name, “ _Ardyn_.”

Noctis should react with revulsion. He owes his father that much. But instead, a look of thoughtfulness settles over his fair features. Noctis’ eyes are once again far in the distance.

He mumbles absently, “...You’re a good friend, Prom.”

* * *

Ardyn’s fingers trail idly through the black oil that boils along the bottom of his cavern, occasionally bubbling up into the water before bursting and sucking back into the pool. He traces a lazy swirl that picks up speed as it tightens, rising up, like a tiny image of a hurricane, and that amuses him. The thought of sending such torrential winds across the surface brings a smile to his lips. He’ll crash its waves against Lucis’ borders, but then they’ll dissipate into calm, peaceful waters, and Ardyn’s life will be a bore once again. 

He paints a faint outline of Regis’ noble face into the darkness, and then his fingers claw down into it, ripping it out of the floor. The crystals that line the cave’s walls reflect the violent motion. Then they settle down again, returning to the cavern’s natural interior and the remnants of his latest storm. One lone image of Regis’ treasured son remains. Ardyn’s eyes return to it, as they’ve often done for the last few days. The hazy, washed out pictures can’t adequately portray the fabled beauty of the prince, but it does show his weakness: his interest in the human he’s bent over. Washed up on the sand, the prince tenderly touches the human’s cheek. The human lived because of him. Ardyn made sure to check.

But that particular human proved even duller than the rest of his pathetic species, and so Ardyn returned to his own realm. With a wave of his hand, the last remnant of that night fades away. The cavern is, for a short moment, free of any Caelum.

Then a shadow falls across the entrance, and the slick grin returns to Ardyn’s face.

The man that hovers just beyond the threshold has grown since Ardyn last saw him in person—he’s become a man, tall and toned, no longer the cute little guppy that once made Ardyn’s stomach churn. He still remembers seeing those big, wide eyes staring up at him across the throne room of the palace. Regis had quickly hidden his precious son behind him. But Ardyn had already set his mark, the damage done.

The rumours haven’t done Noctis justice. He’s renowned for his beauty, but hearing of it and seeing it are different things, and Noctis’ handsome face alone fills Ardyn with a bitter hunger. Noctis’ eyes are a brilliant, clear blue, as striking as they always were, but now they’re veiled in heavy lashes that give off an almost haughty air of boredom. His dark hair wafts softly about his face, perfectly framing the vision. His toned chest is lightly lined with muscle, his rosy-brown nipples the only mark of differing colour along his creamy torso. His trim hips jut into the gleaming scales of his tail, as black as the deepest trenches yet iridescent and glossy as a pearl. In some ways, he looks very much like his father, in others, like his mother, and yet very much his own. 

He radiates the line of _Lucis Caelum_ , and it makes Ardyn simmer just below the surface. He hides it well and drifts closer, his burgundy tentacles climbing along the crystals. Noctis’ eyes narrow with an understandable measure of wariness.

“Prince Noctis, I presume,” Ardyn coos, as though this fair creature could be anyone else. He offers a deep bow in a flourish of bubbles, smirking all the broader when he rises. “How ever may I help you?”

“Ardyn,” Noctis greets, a tad uncertainly, even though Ardyn’s every bit as unique to the world as Noctis. He doesn’t answer Ardyn’s question right away.

There’s only one reason anyone ever comes to Ardyn. He slips backwards into his cavern, and sure enough, Noctis hesitates but follows, ducking under the overhang into the darkness of Ardyn’s lair. Ardyn can’t help but tease, “I take it this isn’t a royal visit.” Noctis stiffens, and Ardyn clicks his tongue. “Ah, so you _have_ snuck out to see me... such a naughty boy our prince has become...” His deep chuckle echoes hauntingly about the walls. Noctis doesn’t balk.

He stands his ground, even as Ardyn makes a show of eying him up and down, lingering along his pretty face, his lovely chest, and the almost imperceptible slit hidden by the scales of his crotch. Shifting forward but around him, Ardyn blocks the doorway and moves in. Noctis leans away but remains within reach of Ardyn’s tentacles. Ardyn has to resist the urge to let them creep forward and wrap around his prey. As easy as it would be to capture Noctis now, Ardyn can tell that better games await him. Reaching out to snatch Noctis’ chin and tug Noctis’ face towards him, Ardyn purrs, “How may I serve you, _Your Highness_?” 

Noctis jerks out of his grip. Ardyn’s grin doesn’t waver. Noctis’ mouth opens, but at first, nothing comes out. He licks his lips, which immediately draws Ardyn’s eyes, and then he tries again: “I... want to be human. Just for a little while.”

Both of Ardyn’s brows lift, though it doesn’t surprise him as much as he portrays. He should’ve guessed Noctis would prove so reckless. Before he answers, Noctis mutters, “This was a mistake,” and turns for the exit.

Ardyn snatches his wrist before he gets anywhere. Pulling Noctis tightly against him, Ardyn catches Noctis’ face again. This time, Noctis grits his teeth but doesn’t pull away. His glare meets Ardyn with the challenging fire that Ardyn always wants to see in his enemies before they fall. It’s the same look that Regis has given him many times, but drenched in youthful naivety. Ardyn murmurs, “I can give you that... for a price.”

Noctis’ eyes flare. He pauses but inevitably breathes, “Name it.”

Ardyn can’t help his chuckle. He’d almost forgotten how much petty wealth the royals hold. “Oh, nothing so crude as money.”

“Then what...?”

“How about a kiss?” Ardyn croons. A single tentacle brushes along Noctis’ tail, the others itching to ensnare him. Noctis’ lips part again, and Ardyn adds, “And, shall we say, a little bet?”

At Noctis’ guarded, questioning look, Ardyn elaborates, “I simply suggest that we add stakes. We have to keep it interesting to make the trouble worth my while... but you seem like quite a willful young man; I’m sure you’ll fight hard for your victory.”

Noctis still doesn’t say anything. Ardyn takes that as acceptance and starts, “You want your human...”

“What human?” Noctis bites out, only earning another chuckle.

“Please, Your Highness, surely you know more of me than _that_.”

The suspicion in Noctis’ eyes triples, but Ardyn knows he has the prince within his grasp. He smoothly continues, “I will give you five days with a body that will please him. If by the end of the fifth day you’ve copulated with this human, then the form will be yours to keep or discard as you wish. And if you haven’t... you will become _mine._ ”

Noctis’ eyes widen around the edges, and for a moment, it reminds Ardyn of that last memory in the throne room. His smirk remains in place, and he doesn’t divulge any details of what being _his_ will entail, but he’s sure the hunger in his eyes makes his purpose clear. When all that Noctis does is flounder, Ardyn coos, “You do know what ‘copulate’ means, don’t you, Your Highness...?”

“Of course,” Noctis snaps, cheeks flushing a lovely shade of coral. And that seems to set something off in him—his trepidation visibly dissolves, even though Ardyn’s sure he must’ve led a very sheltered life. He hisses out, “I agree.”

That’s all that Ardyn needs. Grinning like a shark, he takes a brief second to examine his future prize, and then he’s slamming forward. He catches Noctis in a bruising kiss. Noctis’ gasp is muffled in his mouth, and Ardyn drinks it down, devours it, pulls Noctis into him with crushing force. When Ardyn finally releases him, Noctis is left gasping and coughing as the scourge rises off the floor. Ardyn sighs, “It is a shame to lose that pretty tail of yours... but magic always needs a sacrifice.”

As the darkness sucks him down by the tail, Noctis screams. It’s a horrible, blood-curdling thing that makes Ardyn want to giggle in delight. Blowing a kiss to the sinking prince, Ardyn promises, “I’ll give it back soon.”


	3. Tourmaline

Noctis isn’t dreaming.

That in itself is strange, and as Noctis’ consciousness slowly seeps back into his body, he knows that something’s _wrong_. His arms shift in the hot sand, and he tries to flick his tail, but it isn’t responding. One leg twitches. One _leg_.

As the memory floods into him, Noctis pushes up on his arms. The water rushes in, enveloping him to his inner thighs, lapping along his prickling skin. When it ebbs away again, the full view of his legs is left. Noctis knows just what they are. He knows all the words. He knows how they work. But he’s never seen them like _this_ , and it feels so _strange_.

He shifts one, then the other, knees digging down into the soft ground beneath him. His skin glistens, slick and dripping, but nothing like his scales used to. It looks so pale, and it’s wrong just for that colour. Having two appendages instead of one feels _wrong_. But at the same time, a shiver of exhilaration runs through him. Ardyn’s spell worked. He’s human now.

He’s lying on the beach—a lone little stretch of smooth sand, and over a small hill of silver rocks, Noctis can make out the small speck of Galdin Quay far in the distance. He tries to push up onto his rear, but his legs won’t bend the way he’s used to, and it takes a bit of struggling. His legs feel so _stiff_. He manages to fold and sit on them, then just runs his hands along their side. When his fingers dip down along his inner thigh, he becomes distracted with something else entirely.

His face flushes. His slit is gone. There’s no modesty left, nothing left to emerge when the mood strikes. Instead, his genitals are just... _there_.

He has a flaccid cock nestled between his legs. A mat of black curls surrounds the base. It looks about as long and thick as the one he had in his true form, except it’s all pink skin, no artful ridges or grooves reminiscent of his scales. The veiled head is rounder than he’s used to. It looks so much _softer_. He tentatively touches it, then jerks away at the way it makes him feel. It’s hard to believe that humans are always so exposed.

But they wear clothes, he remembers, and Ardyn clearly didn’t see fit to give him any. He hadn’t paid much thought to it. He’ll need to find some. He’ll need to find _humans_. He no longer looks so alien to them—they shouldn’t be a threat. He needs to find... _that_ human.

With a trembling breath, Noctis tries to push up onto his legs. He’s seen humans walk so many times, but that doesn’t prepare him for standing upright without the helpful buoyancy of water. He stumbles as soon as he’s up, falling back down, and the water again licks at his knees as though in consolation. A part of Noctis just wants to slink down into it—swim off into its depths and feel the safe cocoon of its currents. 

He tells himself he’s braver than that. He makes it one step towards Galdin, then teeters over. A deep breath and he tries again. This time he takes his eyes off his shaking legs and stares defiantly down the beach, over the rocks, straight at his destination.

There’s a figure in the distance. A man. He pauses when Noctis’ eyes connect with his, and when Noctis wavers, the man breaks into a sprint. It makes Noctis’ cheeks burn even hotter to be seen acting so _weak_. He feels like such an idiot. He’s a prince. He’s educated. He’s _seen_ it all in action. He knows how it works. 

But he’s still sprawled helplessly in the sand by the time the man gets close enough to identify.

A sharp stab of breath leaves Noctis. He recognizes that figure. The long, lean legs that jog towards him. The trim, taut arms that pump back and forth. The handsome face, the perfectly coiffed hair. The glasses and those eyes. Noctis can’t believe his luck. Nor his shame. In a final show of effort, Noctis pushes up and _stays there_ , hovering like a newborn land-animal just learning to move.

Then the man reaches him, and Noctis’ knee bends the wrong way. He buckles over and the man lunges out to catch him. Cradled in a strong but gentle grip, Noctis is held up. The human murmurs, “Steady, there—are you alright?”

Even though Noctis has to clutch at the man’s shirt to keep himself on his feet, he answers with a breathless, “Yeah.”

The man helps lower Noctis anyway, setting him down with tender care. The man’s high cheekbones are dusted a faint pink, and at first, Noctis thinks the man might be having the same reaction as him. He’s heard many times that he’s attractive—even Prompto’s said so—and he’s seen how quick humans are to lust after one another, even if he doesn’t know if _his_ brand of beauty will translate onto land. But then he realizes where the man’s eyes are avoiding, and he remembers his own nakedness. He blurts out, “My, uh... trunks? Washed away...”

“I see,” the man murmurs, eyes still carefully kept above Noctis’ waist. Even though his gaze seems to take in every little detail of Noctis’ face, he doesn’t offer recognition. Maybe he doesn’t recognize Noctis at all—maybe he doesn’t remember that day. And given Noctis’ true nature, maybe that’s for the best. After a minute of the two of them just looking at one another, he flushes darker and adds, “Ah, forgive me, but I saw you stumbling. Did you fall off a boat, or hit your head surfing, or...?”

Noctis opens his mouth to say _no_ but then thinks better of it—it might be smarter to let the man think what he will, and let that compensate for any human things that Noctis doesn’t understand. Instead, Noctis changes the subject to, “Noctis. You are...?” He needs a name.

The man gives it without hesitation, returning, “Ignis Scientia.” 

Noctis repeats, “Ignis,” and watches something inexplicable flicker through the man’s eyes. _Ignis’_ eyes. The name isn’t so strange. The people here aren’t that different than what Noctis is used to. He thinks when this is over, he’ll tell his father that and make his father listen. 

But everything trapped within his father’s walls is a problem for another time. For nearly a week, Noctis is _free_. He clings to Ignis’ shirt, even though he no longer needs to, and takes the opportunity that Ignis gave him. “I do feel kind of... funny.” Guiltily feigning innocence, he presses, “Can you help me?”

* * *

Ignis’ small shack is closer than Galdin Quay, and he know their lifeguard’s medical knowledge is no better than his own, so it only makes sense to bring Noctis home. Perhaps it would be wiser not to let a stranger into his unguarded hut, but Ignis finds the offer leaving his lips before he can stop himself, and Noctis nods so eagerly that Ignis can’t refuse. Ignis’ wide, blue eyes look up at him with such breathtaking beauty that Ignis’ heart actually clenches. He’s never had such a guttural reaction to anyone before. And it isn’t just his body. His mind screams to wrap Noctis up in his arms, but instead he only drapes one around Noctis’ back and helps Noctis to walk. Noctis stumbles quite often, but with his weight leant against Ignis’ side, he manages.

He’s gorgeous, and he reminds Ignis so heavily of the fever-dream left over from the storm. Ignis tells himself it doesn’t mean anything—perhaps he saw this man once at the Quay and his injured head conjured the image up in the heat of things. And the return of that man is just a coincidence. It doesn’t feel like it. But Ignis is a logical person, and he doesn’t let his imagination spin off too wildly.

He doesn’t let his eyes stray too low. He keeps his gaze fixed on his nearby shack and tries not to think of just how very _naked_ the man beside him is. He can feel the wet press of Noctis’ bare skin flush against his side. His clothes are already damp from it. He doesn’t care. Working at the Quay and living on the water, he’s used to being wet. He’s even used to seeing semi-naked models. But this is something else entirely, and every time Ignis gets a flash of Noctis’ bouncing cock out the corner of his eye, his cheeks turn a brighter shade of red.

As they reach the front door and Ignis fishes in his back pocket for the keys, he thinks to ask, “Do you have anyone I could call?”

“Call?” Noctis asks, as though he’s never heard the word before, but then he seems to remember and answers, “Oh, no. I’m... alone here.” Ignis nods understandingly, even though that doesn’t sound right. A man like this has to have _someone_ in his life. But maybe Noctis will remember that after he’s been tended to. Ignis pushes open the front door and half-carries Noctis inside.

When Ignis sheds his shoes by the door, he realizes how much sand and water Noctis is dragging in across the laminate. Noctis’ whole body is dotted with sand, more so than a towel will brush off. Before Ignis has realized what he’s saying, he suggests, “Would you like a bath?”

Noctis gives him a funny look, and Ignis makes the executive decision that yes, he needs a relaxing soak. He must’ve gone through _some_ trauma, even if he’s not showing it much, because he’s too... off... for a person that hasn’t been beaten about a little too hard by the waves.

He guides Noctis through the little kitchen and the main living space, off down the short hallway and into the washroom, while Noctis tries to look everywhere at once. He takes it in without any questions, without much reaction, but obviously avidly, which only compounds the strangeness of his behaviour. Ignis sets him down on the toilet seat before running the hot water and asking, “Where are you from?”

“Away,” Noctis answers evasively, while his eyes trail the different soap bottles along the rim of the white tub. “And you? Are you from Galdin? What’s your title?”

“Title?” Ignis repeats.

“You know, what you do,” Noctis clarifies, and Ignis thinks he means for a job. Evidently finished his inspection of the small washroom, his eyes return to Ignis, boring intently into him. Ignis can’t help but straighten under the scrutiny. It’s a struggle not to blush and stare too much, or to babble the hundreds of questions in his head, but Ignis maintains his dignity. For someone stumbling about like a newborn fawn, Noctis’ personality seems quite reserved. It’s all strangely disarming.

Ignis answers, “I work as a chef at Galdin Quay. But no, I’m not ‘from’ here, anymore than anyone else is.” At Noctis’ quirked brow, Ignis explains, even though it must be common knowledge, “Galdin is a tourist destination. Only a small staff lives at the hotel, and the rest commute. This is one of the few rental properties, but even it’s only available during the summer.”

Noctis nods. “Has your family always worked there? Do you live alone?” 

Ignis blinks at the two disparate questions. The tub is bubbling up, and it gives him an excuse to look away as he tests the water and turns off the taps. It belatedly occurs to him that he should’ve asked Noctis about temperature preferences, but Ignis has been understandably distracted. 

“No, I’m the first chef in the family.” Noctis looks at him like the thought of not following in one’s parents’ footsteps is inconceivable. It makes Ignis wonder just how far ‘away’ Noctis is really from. But Noctis either doesn’t want to tell him or doesn’t remember, so Ignis just answers the second question: “Yes, I live alone.” That makes Noctis’ lips twitch in a quickly stifled smile. Ignis tries not to read too much into it. 

When Noctis makes no move to get into the bath, Ignis makes the executive decision for him. Scooping him up around his back and beneath his knees, Ignis shifts Noctis over into the basin and lowers him into the warm water. It makes Noctis’ face brighten, and Ignis tells himself it’s for the pleasantness of a nice soak rather than his own touch. At least when Noctis draws his legs together, that and the wavering water obscures his crotch and makes it slightly easier for Ignis to focus. Only slightly. Noctis is still a lovely creature in every other area, and he looks up at Ignis as though game for whatever Ignis wants next.

Clearing his throat, Ignis suggests, “You should clear off as much sand as you can.” Noctis nods and slowly unfurls to obey, while Ignis comes around the back of the tub and kneels down to the tile. He rolls his sleeves up his arms before cautioning, “I’m going to check your head for injuries, if you don’t mind.”

Noctis nods again and tells him, “Thanks.”

Starting just behind the dark bangs slicked across Noctis’ forehead, Ignis slides his fingers into Noctis’ hair. He has some basic medical knowledge and a few potions should they be needed, and he knows what to look for that might require calling for a professional. As he kneads his way gently along Noctis’ scalp, Noctis mutters, “This place is small.”

Never one for pride, Ignis agrees, “Yes, but it’s affordable, and the space is suitable for a single person.”

“...You don’t have anyone... else... that comes over...?”

Ignis can feel his pulse picking up and tries to deliberately slow it. It isn’t enough that Noctis is a vision, but Noctis also asks the sort of probing questions that allude to interest. Knowing that’s unlikely the case, and even if it was, it would be wrong to take advantage of someone clearly lost and confused, Ignis still answers, “No, I don’t.” 

“Are you going to get in the... the ‘bath’... with me?”

Ignis could swear his glasses are fogging up. He doesn’t know what to make of that question and settles on a simple, “No.”

Noctis mutters, “Oh,” with maybe a hint of disappointment. Or maybe Ignis is just hearing what he wants to hear. 

They’re mostly quiet for the rest of Ignis’ examination—Noctis tries a few other questions that Ignis answers honestly but shortly, and Ignis asks a few in return but gets no real answers. He checks Noctis’ entire skull over twice, just in case he missed something the first time, but he doesn’t find so much as a scratch. On the one hand, it’s a relief, but on the other, it leaves him with a wealth of unanswered questions.

Knowing Noctis clearly doesn’t have those answers, Ignis finally withdraws his searching hands. Noctis sighs, this time definitely in disappointment, but it’s understandable, given that Ignis’ slow ministrations likely made a nice massage. Ignis doesn’t let himself linger. He pushes to his feet, despite his knees protesting and his legs having fallen asleep, and gestures to the towel rack on the opposite wall. “You might want to get out now and dry off. I’ll get you some clothes to wear.”

Noctis tells him, “Thanks,” and Ignis nods without looking. He’s spent enough time eyeing bits and pieces of Noctis’ naked body when he knows he shouldn’t. He forces himself to leave the washroom without looking back, and he closes the door behind himself.

On the other side, he takes a steadying breath. The whole situation is trying and _bizarre_. But he couldn’t have done anything differently, and he still feels the drive to keep helping the mysterious young man that washed onto his shore. For a brief moment, he considers calling in sick for work tomorrow, because he doubts they’ll be solving the mystery tonight. But then he shakes his head and reminds himself it’s not his mystery to solve. Once Noctis is clean and dressed, he’ll have to be taken to the authorities—people that can _really_ help him.

For some reason, Ignis feels reluctant at the prospect. Yet it’s the only reasonable option. For the moment, he pushes it aside and wanders to his bedroom.

Noctis is a little shorter than him, perhaps a little thicker, but Ignis manages to find a white shirt and some loose track pants that should fit. He hesitates before adding some boxers to the pile. Then he returns to the washroom, the stack neatly held in his arms.

When he knocks on the door, there’s no answer, so he has to call through it, “Noctis?”

“Ignis?”

A pause, and Noctis doesn’t add anything. Ignis tries, “I have some clothes.”

“Okay.”

Still, Noctis doesn’t come to the door, so with a sigh, Ignis shoulders it open and slips inside.

Noctis is sitting on the toilet, the towel wrapped around his shoulders and draped down his chest the way people usually do at the beach. His hands are in his lap, hiding his crotch, which helps Ignis to keep focus on his face. Which is almost as damning. With Noctis’ hair semi-dried and brushed away from his eyes, Ignis is struck again by just how handsome he is. It throws Ignis back to the night of the last storm, where he lay on the beach and imagined a figure above him, tenderly pulling him to safety and brushing his cheek. The angel in his dream looked just like the man sitting in his washroom, disheveled and mostly naked, staring blankly up at Ignis and very, very real. 

He entertains the brief thought that it _was_ this young man who saved him. Except it couldn’t have been, because Ignis was so sure that it wasn’t any human. He remembers seeing glimpses of a long, ebony table, like some sort of underwater monster. Except monsters don’t come this beautiful. He _must_ have been dreaming.

He holds out the clothes, and Noctis eyes them for a minute before asking quietly, “Can you help me?”

Ignis couldn’t say no if he wanted to. Mouth dry, he sets the bundle down onto the counter and takes the boxers. Noctis doesn’t say anything about them, which Ignis is grateful for—it’s already more than he can take. He kneels down at Noctis’ feet and slips them over Noctis’ ankles, then pulls the cotton fabric up the long line of Noctis’ legs. Noctis makes no move to help him, until Ignis murmurs, “Can you lift up?” Then Noctis does so, pushing up on his arms, which takes them away from his crotch, and Ignis gets a brief look at his semi-hard cock nestled between his legs. Ignis’ breath quickens as he drags the boxers along Noctis’ thighs. He’s both saddened and relieved when he’s pulled the boxers snugly up, hiding away Noctis’ package. When he chances a look at Noctis’ face, he finds Noctis’ pupils mildly dilated, his lashes slightly lowered. He looks just as affected as Ignis. Ignis still pulls away.

It’s a tad easier to get the track pants on. The shirt is a bit worse—Noctis isn’t completely dry, and the white fabric sticks to his skin. His nipples are pebbled just enough to show through it, even though the washroom isn’t particularly cold. Ignis tries not to dwell on it. 

Noctis seems a little steadier when they emerge, but Ignis walks next to him just in case, ready at any moment to catch him should he fall. He looks around the same as before, taking in the beige walls, the light wood furniture, and the orange-brown floors. Most of the furniture came with the property, and it’s all got an airy, beachy sort of quality, but it serves Ignis well enough. When Ignis gestures at the couch, Noctis perches there, and Ignis asks, “Would you like dinner?”

Noctis’ eyes spark with interest. “What will you make me?”

Ignis hadn’t offered to _make_ Noctis anything, but he doesn’t deny Noctis’ presumption. Instead, he asks, “What would you like?”

Noctis hesitates. He glances through the sliding glass doors, out across the back patio, along the peaceful sea. The sun’s started to set, and while Ignis waits for an answer, he goes to flick on the ceiling light. That instantly draws Noctis’ attention, and it takes him a minute to finally mumble, “Something with fish.”

Given their location, that’s Ignis’ current specialty. He takes one step towards the kitchen, only to turn back and suggest, “I can arrange for you to have a room at Galdin Quay for the night...” It only makes sense. Ignis only has one bedroom.

But Noctis looks taken aback and bluntly counters, “Can’t I stay with you?”

Ignis should say no. He knows that. He tries to, but the word won’t form. He finally answers, “Okay.”

Noctis smiles. It’s absolutely radiant.

Heart beating rapidly, Ignis tears himself away to make Noctis’ fish, and Noctis eventually wanders in to watch him, until they’re sharing dinner on the beachside patio beneath the twinkling stars.


	4. Azurite

Noctis arches off the bed as he gasps in air, fingers curling in the sheets. His eyes flutter open to the thatched ceiling of Ignis’ house, and he remembers why there’s no water filling his lungs. With a few deep breaths, he manages to settle, to calm his body down. His legs tentatively bend at the knees, drawing up only to spread out again. It’s such a _strange_ sensation.

Stranger still is the dry, many-layered bed. It took quite some time to fall asleep last night, but the faint scent of _Ignis_ on the sheets and pillows helped him to relax. Ignis calls it ‘cologne.’ Noctis had expressed that he liked the smell, both on the bed and the clothes he’s wearing, and Ignis had turned away, but not in time to hide his blush.

Noctis doesn’t understand why Ignis didn’t _stay_. It’s obvious that Noctis is attracted to him—that Noctis wants to _know_ him, wants to explore him the way that _humans_ do, physically as much as through conversation. From the way that Ignis’ eyes trailed his body in the tub, he thinks that Ignis must want him too. But Ignis slept elsewhere, and Noctis woke alone.

Ignis said that Noctis could help himself to more clothes from the dresser, but the loose shirt and pants that Ignis gave him work just fine. Slipping out of bed, Noctis sets his feet onto the ground. The floor looks likes wood but feels smooth and cold. Suppressing a shiver, Noctis heads for the door.

Without the varying degrees of water pressure, human doors are easier to open, and it swings harder than Noctis means to. Snatching for the handle, he at least manages to catch it before it bangs against the wall. He thinks humans don’t sleep long—they’re often about the beach both in the early hours of the morning and the late hours of the night—but just in case, he doesn’t want to wake his host.

He doesn’t have to go far to find Ignis. Sprawled out across the living room couch, Ignis is curled up under a blanket, his glasses set aside on a nearby table and his face peaceful in its slumber. Noctis pads over to him, and for a moment, Noctis simply takes in the view. He saw plenty of Ignis last night, but Ignis seemed a little worried then, tense at first, then a little easier but still _tight_ , and it’s different from the way that Ignis looks now: quiet and serene. He’s every bit as handsome as he was the first time that Noctis saw him, except perhaps a little more so, because now Noctis knows more about him. And it’s all good things. Ignis seems genuinely kind, supportive and intelligent. He cooks wonderfully. He keeps a clean, organized house, and he handles surprises well. All in all, he seems like what Prompto would call ‘a catch.’ And soon or later, someone’s going to catch him.

Noctis wants that honour. Another step, and he’s settling down on the edge of the couch, perching as lightly as he can so as not to disturb Ignis’ sleep. He reaches his fingers out, like he did that first night, and brushes them back through Ignis’ hair.

Ignis’ stirs, shifting in place, and his lashes peek open. He peers up at Noctis through a a veil of sleep, and before that can dissipate enough for him to rise, Noctis leans down. Leaving only a hair’s breadth between them, just enough to give Ignis the chance to make the final move, Noctis brings their lips together. His breath holds as he waits for Ignis to seal their kiss, for it to really _start_. Anticipation snakes through him, makes his heart start beating twice as fast. He knows it’s all too fast. But he’s _human_ now, and he _wants_ Ignis, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. 

A hand flattens against Noctis’ chest, and he’s gently pushed away. Noctis straightens. With flushed cheeks and a brow knit together in confusion, Ignis murmurs, “Why did you do that?”

Noctis didn’t do anything. The kiss didn’t actually happen. He wasn’t expecting that. He’s never been rejected. He can feel his cheeks heating just as much as Ignis’, but probably for another reason. He doesn’t _understand_ , and in the end, that wins out over shame. “I just... I thought hu— ...people... did that all the time...”

Ignis lifts both brows at him, like Noctis has said something utterly ridiculous, even though Noctis has seen the evidence dozens of times. He mutters, “Galdin...”

In the space where he trails off, Ignis slowly fills in, “Is a tourist destination. And a romantic one, at that. Couples go there specifically _to_ be romantic. But I...” he pauses and seems to hesitate before finishing, “I hardly know you.”

Disappointment and embarrassment war in Noctis. Ignis has the nerve to look at him apologetically, and Noctis wants to look away but finds he can’t. Finally, he stiffly manages: “I’m sorry.”

Ignis opens his mouth, closes it, then offers, “It’s alright.” Except it isn’t. Noctis moves off the couch as Ignis shuffles the blanket back and rises. Without meeting Noctis’ eyes again, Ignis tells him, “I’ll... go make us some breakfast.” 

Noctis stays beside the couch and watches him collect his glasses and leave, disappearing straight into the kitchen. There’s a window cut out in it that Noctis can look through, and he does, though he can tell that Ignis is deliberately focusing on food. Noctis wants to say ‘thanks,’ but even that won’t come out. 

He lets himself sit back down on the couch, still warm from where Ignis was. The cold reality seeps into him, and he wonders if he really was wrong. Ardyn’s deal comes rushing back, and for the first time, Noctis actually worries about it. He just assumed they’d... ‘copulate’... and maybe fall in love after. But maybe that was naïve. And maybe Ardyn knew that all along.

Thinking of being in Ardyn’s arms and tentacles, brief though it was, makes him shiver. The memory of Ardyn’s fierce kiss and the consciousness it stole isn’t a pleasant one. He’d thought by now he would’ve replaced it with the feeling of Ignis’ lips against his, his hands in Ignis’ hair and Ignis’ arms around his waist. He thought they’d chase each other about the sand, splash one another, go falling down on top of one another and exchange a slew of delightful, laughing kisses as the tide swept in around them. That’s how he pictured it in his head, just like the couples on the beach. And ever since the storm, he pictured Ignis with him.

Apparently it doesn’t work like that. When Noctis stands up again, he finds his new feet trailing right for the kitchen. He stands in the mouth of it and watches Ignis work. His hands itch to reach out and just _claim_ Ignis for his own—say that he’s a prince and this human should be _his_. Or at least that they’re two young, attractive men with needs, and why shouldn’t they have what all those couples did? But he just asks helplessly, “What should I do?”

Despite everything, Ignis offers him a small, compassionate smile. “Just relax and try to remember what you can.”

Noctis has no choice but to nod. He leaves the kitchen, because the more he looks at Ignis’ sleep-disheveled body, the more he wishes his lewd assumptions had been right.

He wanders to the patio doors and looks out at the sea, wondering if Prompto would chuckle at his misconception or shake from fear for what it means.

Then Gladio’s sleek, earth-brown tail swims into his mind, and his shield’s familiar voice growls that a prince doesn’t have the luxury of giving up. And in the training pit, Noctis would pick up his spear and lunge back with a fierce cry, because _Noctis_ doesn’t give up.

He marches back to the kitchen and tells Ignis, “Get to know me.”

Ignis blinks.

Noctis blushes. He feels stupid all over again, but he doesn’t back down. He tries for a softer, “Just... what do you want to know?”

Blushing back, Ignis turns away to collect one of his ingredients out of a cupboard over the counter. When he has it, he holds onto it for a moment, head tilting thoughtfully. Then he asks, “Do you game?”

* * *

Ignis has never once called in a sick day. He’s never once been tempted to—he’s an honest, loyal worker, and while he knows almost every one of his colleagues has deceived their employer at least once, he’s proud that he hasn’t. But for the first time, his shift approaches without him fully ready, and he doesn’t want to go.

On the whole, he likes his job. The location is unbeatable, the atmosphere is pleasant, his workstation is impeccable and his closest coworker is good company. Unfortunately, she’s off at six, and if he doesn’t show up for his shift, Galdin’s guests will go without supper. Yet cooking at the Quay couldn’t possibly compete with teaching Noctis’ King’s Knight.

Curled up on the couch together, Ignis sets the phone in Noctis’ hands, and he guides Noctis through each individual step of making it work. It proves far harder than he’d imagined, because not only has Noctis never played before, but it feels like he’s never played _any_ game. Or even used a phone. Perhaps that should be frustrating, but Ignis doesn’t mind playing the tutor, and Noctis, for the most part, is a good student. He learns quickly. And it’s bizarrely fun to see the game for the first time again through his eyes, and his expressions prove priceless. Outside of the game, he’d seemed quite reserved, casual and maybe even a little haughty. But King’s Knight strips that away, and Ignis finds it a chore to pull away even long enough to make Noctis lunch. He finds he doesn’t mind that either. Noctis picks some of the carrots and peppers out of the pasta Ignis makes, but otherwise, he seems to enjoy the meal, and for whatever reason, Ignis gets more satisfaction out of that than he ever has serving his customers. 

But five thirty rolls around, and Ignis has to leave the couch again to shower and change, then to make a quick dinner he can leave for Noctis. Noctis shows no sign of leaving, and as crazy as it seems, Ignis knows that he does want to find Noctis still there when he returns.

Which makes him wonder why he denied Noctis a kiss. He wants it too. Of course he does. But then he reminds himself that Noctis is still a _stranger_ that just washed up on his doorstep, confused and dazed, and he tries to beat that into his head as he packs his apron into his work bag.

He lets Noctis keep his phone to game while he goes. Noctis doesn’t look happy about his leaving, but Noctis doesn’t stop him. So Ignis goes, wishing the whole time that he wasn’t.

The walk to work feels longer than usual. It’s a constant struggle not to look back towards his shack, even after he knows it’s far out of view. He shows up in time to catch Coctura leaving, and when she asks, “Hey, what’s up?” he just shrugs noncommittally. She probably wouldn’t believe him anyway if he explained that a gorgeous naked man walked up onto his shore, slept over in his bed, is currently in his clothes, and even tried to kiss him. And for some inane reason that’s becoming harder to hold onto, he didn’t return that kiss. She’d probably call him crazy. And maybe rush over to meet Noctis for herself. 

For most of his shift, Ignis does his best not to think of what’s waiting for him at home. He prepares each dish that’s ordered as well and efficiently as usual, and as usual, his customers seem satisfied. He gets a number of compliments returned via the wait staff and a decent amount of tips. At one point, a hunter comes in to ask about the local game, and Ignis checks the current listings, pleased to see that none are near where he’s left Noctis. The beach is mostly safe during the day anyway. It makes him wish he’d warned Noctis to stay inside at night, but then, Noctis didn’t seem likely to leave.

It’s proof that Ignis really doesn’t know Noctis at all when that assumption goes out the window half an hour later. When Noctis appears in Ignis’ peripherals, waltzing right through the upper dining room, Ignis nearly drops his grilled barramundi onto the floor. When their eyes meet, Noctis grins and waves. He’s still wearing the same clothes that Ignis gave him yesterday without any socks or shoes. It’s not the usual vacation wear, but Ignis doubts that’s why Noctis draws as many looks as he does. It’s particularly bad for Ignis. Knowing that they’re _his_ clothes makes the odd sight feel both wildly adorable and horribly appealing. None of the staring, neither from the guests nor Ignis, seems to bother Noctis.

Reaching the wrap-around bar, Noctis takes a seat on one of the stools. He tells Ignis without preamble, “Dinner was great, thanks.”

Ignis has to remind himself to flip the barramundi. Pushing his glasses up his nose with the other hand, he answers, “Thank you. ...I regret that I can’t offer you dessert while on duty.”

Noctis looks surprised for a moment, and Ignis wonders if he really did get knocked so hard that he forgot the concept of money, but then Noctis mutters, “Right, I’m broke...” like _that’s_ the new part. But he doesn’t offer any further explanation and instead asks, completely nonchalant, “Can I just stay here and keep you company?”

It would probably be better if he didn’t. He’s one giant, walking distraction. But it isn’t as though Ignis has managed to go long without thinking of Noctis anyway, and he winds up saying, “I’d like that.” Noctis’ lips quirk into a far too attractive grin. 

In an effort not to get sucked into Noctis’ orbit any further, Ignis glances away, diverting to the first thing he sees on the counter. Noctis follows his gaze to the wanted poster of a hulking shieldshear. It gives Ignis the opportunity to explain, “The shores here aren’t always safe. The monsters don’t often stray too close to where we are, but it’s a possibility. I have some daggers at home and in my workbag for such a possibility. I should show you where they are if you stay another night, just in case.”

For someone that seems to be confused about a good many everyday things, Noctis doesn’t look bothered by the mention of giant, people-eating crabs. Instead, what he focuses on is: “I’d like to stay another night.”

Ignis nods and tries not to show his pleasure at the news. Noctis watches him plate up the barramundi, and when the server comes to take it, she lingers to give Noctis a toothy grin. He doesn’t even look at her.

He looks at Ignis, and even when Ignis mentions that it won’t look professional to have a friend at the bar all night, Noctis just moves to a nearby table and waits there, sometimes wandering back for short periods and at other times just staring wistfully out to the sea. As time deepens their conversation and the sun sets to wash an orange-purple glow over Noctis’ handsome face, he becomes increasingly more enthralling. And Ignis was captivated from the start.

But it’s when they walk home together, under the stars with the shallow tide dancing around them, that Ignis knows he’s doomed.


	5. Tin

Gladiolus is a ball of tensing nerves. He hides it as best he can, still performing all his duties to the best of his ability, though he’s failed in his greatest task: Prince Noctis is no longer safe. Prince Noctis is _gone_ , and Gladiolus hates that he’s mostly kept cooped up in the castle, organizing the search efforts, when he wants to be the one _out there_ , patrolling every last centimeter of the ocean until he knows that Noct’s safe. He can still feel the king’s firm grip on his shoulders, still see the overwhelming sorrow in Regis’ eyes. He can still hear Regis rasping, _“It’s been days.”_

 _Days_. And no one’s seen hide nor hair of their prince. Not even Prompto, who wilted under Gladiolus’ demanding growls and looked just as miserable. Everyone’s miserable. Nyx looks like he hasn’t slept in as many days. Gladiolus was ordered to, but he couldn’t make his eyes close.

In the few hours where he’s off-duty, supposedly at rest, he resumes the search himself. He scours the kingdom, then spirals out beyond it, because he knows what trouble Noctis is. He knows Noctis can be a little shit. But he never thought Noctis would actually _run away_ , and he fears much worse has happened. Surely if Noctis did leave willingly, he would’ve brought Prompto with him. Gladiolus passes over Prompto’s little house near the outskirts of the city and still keeps swimming. He’s sure by now that Noctis isn’t within their borders.

Gladiolus doesn’t stop there. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop until he brings Noctis home. He follows the winding valleys and climbing hills, just daring the sharks beyond the city limits to bother him. He circles Lucis in wider ripples until every last building is out of view. And he keeps going. He’s too anxious to even feel tired.

He passes a swarm of manta rays and along a wall of caves, then slows to a halt at the nearby crawl of a burgundy-black tentacle.

A man emerges from a low cavern, more octopus than fish, his many tendrils writhing along the ocean floor like some sort of ghoulish nightmare. He pauses when he sees Gladiolus, dipping his head in greeting.

Blood cold, Gladiolus darts down and past the man, swooping right into the cave. He can hardly believe they forgot this—they searched every home in Lucis, every store, every building, but they never thought of _Ardyn_. The man floats in after him, idly hanging by the entrance, looking wholly unbothered as Gladiolus surges from one end of over the cave to another, dipping into every nook and cranny. 

When he’s searched it all and upended every piece of furniture, he comes right up to Ardyn, close enough to touch. Gladiolus has to stop himself from grabbing Ardyn by his mess of ruddy hair and demanding answers. It doesn’t matter that Ardyn’s name has hardly been spoken for over twenty years. Gladiolus still remembers the lingering rumours when he first joined the king’s guard. And the slimy smile on Ardyn’s stubbly face looks nothing but malicious. Gladiolus growls, “Where is he?”

“He?” Ardyn repeats, deep voice smooth and untroubled. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” 

“Prince Noctis. If I find out you have _anything_ to do with his disappearance, I’ll have every one of your tentacles cut from your body.”

Ardyn lifts one brow at the vicious threat, but his grin doesn’t falter. For some inexplicable reason, it makes Gladiolus _furious_. He knows he has no proof, even no reason, to suspect Ardyn of anything. But that doesn’t ease his vehemence.

“Oh my, trouble in the kingdom?” Ardyn asks, like he couldn’t dream of a more delightful thing than political unrest. Gladiolus pushes closer, nearly nose-to-nose. He towers over most people, his broad chest and chiseled muscles a clear warning to back down. But Ardyn, well built in his own right, doesn’t show intimidation. His eyes fix on Gladiolus’, and he all but purrs, “If it’s trouble with your prince, why don’t you ask that dear friend of his?”

 _Gladiolus_ considers himself Noctis’ close friend, and he had nothing to do with it. The only other person Ardyn could be referring to is Prompto. But Gladiolus would be shocked to learn that Ardyn had even met him.

Ardyn maintains his enigmatic look a moment longer, then pulls away and drifts beyond his cave. “Anyway, as lovely as your visit was, I’m afraid I really must be going. People to see, poor souls to help, and such. But I wish you luck with your prince... Amicitia, was it?”

Gladiolus wants to demand Ardyn _stay_ , maybe even accompany him to the palace for further questioning, but the law’s not on his side. And he knows he won’t get anything more out of Ardyn. He’ll still investigate what Ardyn said. As poor a source as Ardyn is, Gladiolus gets the impression he doesn’t say anything without meaning.

And at the moment, Gladiolus is desperate enough to try anything. He launches himself back towards Lucis and makes a mental note to remind his king of the vagabond beyond their borders.

* * *

Prompto doesn’t dare swim too close to the wooden structure that the humans built over the water, but he doesn’t have to. Noctis and the human walk far from it, down along the beach, the water rushing in around their feet and licking up their ankles. Noctis’ waist is covered in a strange strip of fabric, like what the humans wear, but the rest of him is bare for Prompto to see: trim, peach, human _legs_.

It sends a shiver down his spine just to look at it. He doesn’t know if it’s off-putting or interesting. It’s still _Noctis_ , and his upper body is the same. His face is just as handsome as it always was, and his laughter rings out just as beautifully when his human partner tells him a story. The voice is different in the open air than Prompto’s used to beneath the water, but he’s surfaced with Noctis before. He trails along after them, a little behind and so far out that other humans would probably mistake him for a piece of driftwood. He knows it’s dangerous to be there. But he’s consumed with guilt and worry, and seeing Noctis _smiling_ is such an indescribable relief.

Noctis is with a tall, lean human, topped in brown hair and a strange thing over his eyes. The two of them walk hand-in-hand, their arms occasionally swinging, and they stop often, talking animatedly and standing tightly close. The human wears the same thin piece of cloth that Noctis wears, and he lets Noctis take his other hand, lets Noctis pull him forward. When Noctis gets knee-deep into the water, the human tries to pull them back. Noctis stubbornly moves onwards, but then the human’s hands slip out of his, and when the human retreats, Noctis swiftly follows. 

Back on dry land, Noctis wraps his arm around the human’s. The other reaches for the human’s waist, and the human says something that makes Noctis laugh again, this time quieter, more intimate. Prompto wishes he were close enough to hear. But he doesn’t want to intrude too much. And he doesn’t want the human to see him, to take a net out to catch him, to torture him in front of Noctis. The very possibility that this is a _hunter_ chills Prompto to the bone. But Noctis looks so _happy_ , and outside of that terrifying context, Prompto can admit that they look sort of cute together. 

They look bizarrely _right_ , even though Noctis is _wrong_ like this. And Prompto misses him already. If Noctis stayed on land _forever_...

Noctis reaches up to splay his hand along the human’s cheek. The human doesn’t pull away. Noctis lifts up on his toes, leaning in, and Prompto’s sure that if he was close enough, he’d see the thick attraction in their eyes.

Blushing, Prompto turns away. He retreats back into the water, wanting to give them privacy. At least he got his answers. Against all the odds, Noctis is safe and well. For now. 

Prompto just prays it lasts.


	6. Gabbro

Noctis has kept the bed, but the luxury’s worn off as Ignis’ scent has faded, lingering instead on the couch in the living room. Noctis lounges across it while Ignis is at work, watching the seconds tick down on the clock. Ignis works too much. And maybe it wouldn’t seem that way if Noctis was working too, but Noctis’ purpose has been left behind.

In a way, he does sort of miss his title. Only a short while ago, he would never have believed that possible. But as much as he likes to simply laze about, it feels worse when he knows he hasn’t _done_ anything, _isn’t_ going to do anything, can’t make any sort of difference. He doesn’t exactly miss the council meetings, hardly the long reports, the constant lectures, but he’s _bored_ , and maybe a tiny bit of it would be welcome now. Yet he wouldn’t give up Ignis for that. He winds up fantasizing about a sort of in between state, where he’s still a prince, but Ignis is also taking care of him. Then Ignis could more easily and efficiently explain the council’s droning decisions, like he explains human things to Noctis. Noctis thinks he could take it better if his responsibilities came from Ignis instead of his father.

He’s not entirely sure that his father misses him. The petty, surface layer of his consciousness says that Regis won’t even notice—he’s always too busy for Noctis anyway. But Noctis knows, deep down, that Regis does love him, no matter how terrible they both are at expressing it, and the Lucian king is probably turning the whole ocean upside down in looking for him.

Prompto’s probably a mess. Gladiolus is probably beside himself. He’ll probably yell at Noctis for days when Noctis gets back. If Noctis gets back. As furious as Gladiolus will be, if Noctis winds up in Ardyn’s clutches, he’s sure that Gladiolus would still fight to get him back. The entire Lucian army would. 

But Noctis doesn’t want to think about that: the possibility of becoming _Ardyn’s_ , just a pretty doll or pawn for some twisted sorcerer to play with. He remembers the way Ardyn looked at him, the way Ardyn’s slick tentacles clawed around his wrists, and it makes his skin crawl. He buries his face in the pillows and inhales, drinking in the lingering scent of Ignis’ cologne. When he thinks of Ignis, he can _almost_ forget his home.

He wants Ignis more than ever. He pulls one of the smaller pillows into his arms, hugging it fiercely, aware that he’s spiraling off again into a useless sea of hormones. He’s enjoyed just spending time with Ignis, talking to Ignis, keeping him company and playing with him. But Noctis also knows he’s running out of time. And he’s never felt so sexually frustrated in his life. It doesn’t help that his cock’s now on the _outside_ , always exposed and so _easy_ to stimulate. He thrusts his hips down into the couch where Ignis sleeps, and it sends a delighted shiver up his spine. It’s so different from his old body. But if it helps him get his hands on Ignis, it’ll all be worth it. 

In a tremendous effort of will power, Noctis tears himself off the couch. He’s already experimented with touching himself in his new form, and it only offers ephemeral relief—the _want_ always rushes back as soon as Ignis comes back into his mind. Which is far too often. So he tries to divert that interest to other things—not sex but something softer, more caring—he wants to show Ignis that he cares. The only thing he can think of is food, because Ignis always cooks for him.

Ignis left him a delicious tuna casserole that he already demolished, savouring each bite. The royal chefs were nowhere near Ignis’ level of talent. Or maybe Noctis is just too smitten to be objective. Either way, he saunters into the kitchen and starts poking about the cupboards. 

Despite all his lessons, all his observations, even his time with Ignis in the last several days, Noctis doesn’t know what most of the things in Ignis’ cupboards are. He pushes stubbornly on anyway, inventorying what he can and stepping back to try and think of recipes. Ignis seems to have an endless supply of them. Just yesterday he stopped them outside an ice cream stall to write down a new idea, after clicking his fingers and murmuring the ingredients to himself. Noctis briefly looks around for that notebook, but it must be with Ignis at work, because Noctis can’t find it.

He does eventually find a bowl of cup noodles, which have instructions on the back, and Noctis remembers Ignis heating one up for him. But Ignis said they weren’t nutritious enough, so he chopped up a few vegetables from the fridge to add into it. Noctis didn’t protest as adamantly as he would if he wasn’t still trying so hard to get into Ignis’ good graces. Maybe someday, when they’ve been together for years and slept together too many times to count, Noctis will be able to ban vegetables from their refrigerator, and Ignis will adjust his recipes accordingly.

Because Noctis is trying to do something nice for _Ignis_ , he does pull out some vegetables from the bottom drawers. He only takes the ones that he remembers, and he peels and cuts them accordingly, dumping them into the plastic cup while the water boils in the kettle. He stops more than once to question what he’s doing, but for the most part, he thinks he can manage.

He wonders if Gladiolus would laugh his head off at the idea of _Noctis_ making food for someone else, and then if Prompto’s still being take care of at the palace.

And then he wonders if Ignis would ever eat a merman, or if he’d rescue one from a storm.

* * *

Ignis finds Noctis sleeping on the couch, just where Ignis left him, but he stirs when Ignis draws close enough, and the way he looks up at Ignis through thick, heavy lashes nearly stops Ignis’ heart. Ignis murmurs, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” even though he came over for no other reason than to look at Noctis. Noctis just rubs his eyes and yawns, stretching out like a languid cat.

Ignis has practically adopted him, just like a stray, and even though Ignis knows it’s _wrong_ , he can’t begrudge that. He enjoys Noctis’ company too much, especially when Noctis mutters, “I made you dinner.” He gestures towards the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep off on the back of his other hand. His black hair’s a mess—Ignis wants to brush it.

Ignis wants to dress Noctis up in better clothes than his old hand-me-downs, wants to find Noctis a better home and organize Noctis’ life, wants to cook and clean for him and a good many other things. It shocks Ignis how ludicrous and unrealistic his fantasies have become. But the promise of dinner at least means that his strange compulsions to take care of Noctis aren’t entirely unrequited. He backtracks towards the kitchen, shedding his jacket as he goes.

The little round cup of noodles looks cheap and poorly made, the vegetables on top clearly barely cooked and condensation leaking around the bottom. It still makes Ignis’ heart swell. He’s seen just how confused Noctis looks in the kitchen—how confused Noctis looks _everywhere_ , and it can’t have been easy for him to make even such a simple dish. The added vegetables show his effort. Though Ignis ate a little bit at work and isn’t particularly hungry, he fetches chopsticks.

When Noctis appears in the kitchen doorway, Ignis’ oversized shirt too long on him and his feet bare against the tile, Ignis tells him, “Thank you.”

Noctis’ handsome cheeks stain a light pink, and he looks away, scratching the back of his head as he grunts, “It’s nothing.”

It’s _thought_. And Ignis appreciates it. He lifts the cup and asks, “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah. The casserole was good.”

“I’m glad.”

Noctis steps out of the way when Ignis brushes past him, but he follows after Ignis like a lost puppy afterwards. It’s late enough that Noctis could just go to sleep, an act he seems to have a great affinity for, but given how much time they’ve spent together in the past several days, Ignis isn’t at all surprised when Noctis settles down next to him on the couch. Reaching for the remote set on the coffee table, Ignis suggests, “Would you like to watch a movie before bed?” Normally, he would prefer a good book, but that’s hardly a two-person activity. And he needs something to distract him while he eats, or he’ll just stare at Noctis the whole time, falling steadily deeper into Noctis’ intoxicating orbit. 

Noctis answers, “Sure.” So Ignis flips it on and searches through his recordings. Most of them are documentaries, many involving the ocean, but he’s not surprised when Noctis nudges him and points: “That one.” A monstrous, battle-ridden epic, Ignis can’t immediately place why it’s on his machine. Then he remembers Coctura insisting he see it. He never followed up. For Noctis, he will.

Selecting the movie and setting the remote aside, Ignis sets in on his noodles while the credits start. The noodles themselves are slightly overcooked, the unevenly chopped carrots practically raw, and the cucumber has no business being in the dish at all. Yet Ignis hides his displeasure at the taste and eats it anyway, because _Noctis_ made it for him, and that’s become enough. It only gets better when the title flashes across Ignis’ mounted flat screen, and Noctis flops right down onto him. One of Noctis’ arms snakes around Ignis’ while Noctis’ head nuzzles into Ignis’ shoulder, his trim body squirming against Ignis’ side until he’s finally settled into place. Ignis stops eating while Noctis is moving, then waits a few seconds after, just regulating his own breathing. Noctis’ body radiates warmth, especially where his soft palm rests against Ignis’ forearm and his cheek presses at Ignis’ bicep. For a long moment, all Ignis can think is: _Noctis_.

That’s nothing new. Noctis has consumed his life for days. And the more those days go on, the more Ignis wonders why he’s fighting it, because it feels so _right_ to have Noctis sitting next to him, curled up before a movie like a new-formed couple. Or husbands that have been together so long that they no longer know where one begins and the other ends. Finally, Ignis brings another soggy cucumber to his mouth. The taste is worth the emotion.

The movie is a dull one, too cliché and poorly written to justify its flashy action sequences, but it stood no chance anyway. Ignis bears the overwhelming cgi and parade of nonsensical monsters for the sake of Noctis’ interest. He watches them tear at one another in enormous, bloody battles, until the surviving primate tumbles over a cliff and plunges into the ocean. The merfolk that rise up to claw at it have dead eyes and pointed teeth, with fraying green scales all over their bodies. They’re no different than the other imaginative creatures concocted for the film, but for whatever reason, when they appear, Noctis tenses. Ignis can feel Noctis’ grip suddenly tightening around his arm, Noctis’ whole body curling into him. Ignis wonders if the violence has gotten to be too much, if he should turn it off, but before he can, Noctis leans over for the coffee table. He stares at the remote for a second before pressing the right button, and the screen clicks off. Ignis doesn’t protest the improper shut down, even though he knows it’ll lose their spot. He thinks he’ll be deleting the recording and hoping Coctura never asks him of it.

He’s more concerned with Noctis, who sits quietly for a moment while Ignis sets the empty cup noodles down next to the remote. He managed to eat it all, even the banana flecks mashed into a wad of spice at the bottom. The strange taste lingers on his tongue, but getting up to fetch a glass of water would detangle him from Noctis, and he doesn’t want that.

Noctis turns to him first. Noctis’ hand lifts to his cheek, cupping him warmly, thumb brushing just beneath the arm of his glasses. Ignis knows what’s coming. This time, he doesn’t pull away.

He lets Noctis lift up and bring their lips together, touching them for a feather-light, fleeting kiss. Then Noctis parts them just a fraction, heavy-lidded eyes searching Ignis’, like waiting for Ignis to push him off. Ignis’ fingers curl into fists at his sides. All he wants to do is pull Noctis _closer_.

Noctis shifts, lifting one knee over Ignis’ lap, and then they’re really on top of each other, Noctis in his space. Noctis dares another kiss, a fiercer one, pressing harder. After the third one, Noctis begs, breathless and irresistible, “ _Please._ ”

Ignis breaks. 

He surges back into Noctis, meeting him for a wild, bruising kiss, while his hand lifts to twist in Noctis’ hair. It’s every bit as soft as he knew it would be, and Noctis only leans into the touch, letting Ignis fist it and shove him closer by it. On the next kiss, both of them part their mouths. Ignis’ is filled up with Noctis’ tongue before he can stop it, and he sucks it eagerly inside before returning the favour, licking Noctis out like Noctis licked him. His whole body arches forward with it, chest flattening into Noctis’. The two of them cling to one another, begin to writhe, and make out in a raunchy, lewd mess that would usually fill Ignis with shame.

He can’t help it. He can’t stop himself. Noctis mewls against him, rocking into him and clutching at him, hands starting to roam, and it’s all Ignis can do to keep from ripping Noctis’ clothes off. He moans between their mouths and kisses Noctis just as hard, his hips grinding back into Noctis. It’s too heated, too fast, but Ignis just wants _more_. He wants everything Noctis will give him. And Noctis seems to offer _everything_ , so long as he can have it in return. Ignis bites at Noctis’ bottom lip and trails one hand down the chiseled arch of his hipbone.

Ignis never reaches his destination. The windows bang open so loud that it makes Ignis jerk back in shock, and Noctis’ dilated eyes are already blown. They turn for the window in unison, and find the wind howling beyond it, the trees beating back against the house’s siding. Grey clouds are bubbling across the blackening sky. The weather beyond the patio is fearsome. Ignis’ hadn’t even noticed. Now it all comes raging in, and it can’t be ignored.

Painful though it is to leave Noctis’ embrace, Ignis pushes off the couch. He fastens the windows shut again, though there’s no telling how long they’ll last, then heads towards the door to secure it. All the windows will need securing, and they’ll have to be careful in the night—keeping away from glass _just in case_. Worse than storms is the monsters they summon—the beaches crawl with them when the weather gets like this. As Ignis drags one of the hall tables to blockade the door, he mutters beneath his breath, “The Six have poor timing.”

“So does my father,” Noctis murmurs, coming to help Ignis. “Or maybe others like him.”

Ignis looks up, meaning to ask—but a shorn log slams against the patio door beyond the living room, and it spurs Ignis back to action. They’ll talk about it later. 

Except that later never comes—the storm rages all night, and Noctis won’t say anymore. They sleep on opposite sides of the mattress in the bedroom, away from all the open glass in the living room, too tense to continue what they started. Ignis doesn’t sleep until the storm simmers lower somewhere in the early hours of the morning.

He wakes with Noctis sleeping peacefully beside him.


	7. Lead

Noctis wakes alone, but the sheets smell like Ignis again, and it lulls him half into dreams as he curls tighter into Ignis’ pillow. He wonders if Ignis has gone to take a bath, gloriously naked and dripping wet, or puttered off to make Noctis a delicious, personalized meal. Either way, he hopes that Ignis comes back soon. It’s the final day, but Noctis doesn’t think it’ll be their last together. He knows they’re going to make it.

He has the vivid memories of Ignis leaning into him, pressing into him with one frenzied kiss after another, fingers twisting into Noctis’ hair. Noctis had traced Ignis’ body, had pulled Ignis back into him, had rutted into Ignis with the passion he’d bottled up all week. If it hadn’t been for the storm, Noctis thinks they would’ve done it then and there—Ignis would’ve felt all of Noctis’ hunger, would’ve been driven crazy by it, and would’ve pushed Noctis down and filled him up right on the couch. Noctis has seen the way humans make love before. Or maybe he would be the one slipping into Ignis’ pliant body, and Ignis would’ve writhed and moaned beneath him, so wanton and beautiful.

Noctis groans into the pillow, stifling a hot puff of air. He angles his hips down into the mattress, and he can’t stop himself from grinding in—nothing gets him going like thoughts of _Ignis_. And they were so _close_. He knows that Ignis wants him, that Ignis likes him too—he can see it in Ignis’ eyes. He can feel it whenever they spend time together, sharing a table at Ignis’ restaurant or walking along the beach, even cuddled up on Ignis’ couch with that fascinating game of his. Ignis hasn’t tried to send Noctis off again. Ignis has just accepted Noctis’ new presence in his life, and as wild as it is, Noctis is sure that Ignis enjoys it every bit as much as he does.

He’s going to have Ignis tonight, he’s sure of it. Or sooner. He can’t wait long. He’s already rock hard. But he doesn’t want to touch himself, because he knows Ignis’ hand would be better.

The time passes, and Ignis doesn’t return. Noctis listens for signs of life beyond the bedroom, but there isn’t anything, and finally, his impatience wins out over his laziness. He pushes out of bed and quickly changes into a fresh set of Ignis’ clothes—the tightest fitting pair of pants that he can find and a long purple shirt he doesn’t bother buttoning up. He knows that Ignis likes seeing Noctis in his clothes, and Noctis likes wearing them. He plays with the hem as he strolls into the washroom, still hoping to find Ignis sprawled out across the tub.

The washroom is empty, and Noctis uses it on his own, even finger-combing out his hair when he’s finished. Logically, Ignis must be in the kitchen then, except that he isn’t, and there’s only a note on the middle of table.

Ignis’ handwriting is neat and tidy, informing Noctis that Ignis has left to help fix some of the storm’s damage at Galdin Quay. It sounds like something Ignis would do—go to help others, even before taking care of his own needs, like the very needy man sleeping in his bed. The note says he’ll be back soon, but it feels like it’s already been too long.

The storm was a violent one. Noctis knows that. It hasn’t _entirely_ gone away, but the skies were quiet when he woke, and they’re only a little worse now, occasionally rattling against the windows and somewhat dimming the morning light. At first, Noctis doesn’t worry. Ignis will come back, like he’s done all week, and spend all his remaining time with Noctis, and they’ll climb back into the nice, soft bed, and pound each other into it so hard that it breaks.

Noctis spends a fair amount of time idly daydreaming about that. He makes his own breakfast—the cereal that Ignis showed him how to use—and plays a bit with the phone that Ignis left behind. But as the time passes, the wind picks up. Little kernels of worry start worming into him, because if it gets much worse, Ignis might find himself walking home in that alone.

It isn’t until Noctis fishes around for a late lunch or early dinner that he finds Ignis’ daggers in one of the drawers—all his hunting gear left behind. He told Noctis of them, even cautioned Noctis to take them if he had to, to defend himself if Ignis were ever gone and the monsters closed in. Every dagger he mentioned is safely tucked inside the drawer, meaning none are there to defend _Ignis_ from monsters.

And the storm’s steadily building, sure to call all its daemons with it. It’s like the boat all over again. Noctis can see the dangers, can sense the accident before it’s even happened.

He takes a few daggers for himself, clutching at their sheaths as he jogs towards the door.

* * *

There’s still a fair amount of work to be done about the Quay, but Ignis is a chef, not a carpenter, and though he helps with a good many other things, eventually he deems it time to return home. The guests are all safe, the injured being tended to, and they’re huddled together now in a makeshift pavilion on the shore until the weather cools. It had somewhere in the morning, but that was short lived, and the more it builds, the more Ignis worries. It was one thing to leave his little shack and all his worldly possessions to the whims of a storm, but quite another to leave Noctis behind. 

By the time Ignis is ready to go, the others don’t want to let him—at Coctura’s behest, Dino even tries to physically stop him, but Ignis ignores their protests. He reminds them that he has someone he cares about still out there, alone and inexperienced, and they let him pass. Most of the staff have seen him with Noctis at one point or another in the week, and he’s sure his feelings, despite his best efforts to stifle them, were glaringly obvious. He jogs back along the shore, his sleeves pushed up his arms and his trousers stained by the raging tide. The air is strangely hot despite the swirling clouds, but he ignores his own sweat and exhaustion from the several hours of work compounded with his run. He doesn’t dare slow down. _Noctis_ is somewhere out there.

He only hopes that Noctis saw his note and stayed safely inside, but Noctis is still a strange, unpredictable creature, and Ignis doesn’t want to count on him behaving.

That very figure appears in the distance before the house does, moving steadily towards Ignis. As a blinding flash lights the sky, Noctis’ raw voice shouts over the wind: _“Ignis!”_

“Noct!” The first clap of thunder silences him. He tries anyway: “Go back!”

He doesn’t expect Noctis to listen to him, or even to hear him. The first drop of water interrupts, then another and another, and then a sudden downpour is coating his glasses and slicking his clothes against his skin. He stumbles forward anyway, Noctis so far away and yet still running for him. He doesn’t stop until the next boom thunders in, leaving a chilling laughter in its wake. A rising shadow fills Ignis’ vision, and he trips to a halt, shoes catching in the sand and body nearly tumbling forward. He turns towards the water, where the laughter’s growing.

A huge, hideous monster emerges from the sea. Its many tentacles slither out in black and blood-red pockets, the inky water clouding all around them, so that Ignis can’t see anything underneath. A large, deformed shieldshear ambles up from the shallows, and another squid-like creature lumbers into view on the other side. More and more of them come pouring out, multiplying like their leaders’ tentacles. Except that that one leader, though monstrous from the waist down, looks very much like a _human_ on top. His ruddy hair is a frantic mess about his shoulders, his eyes gleaming, a thick ooze bleeding down them to paint his cheeks. The sheer _horror_ of the sight freezes Ignis’ body. 

He’s hunted monsters in his time. Living by the water, he’s had to. But he’s never seen anything like the man that towers before him, and the terrifying sight paralyzes him as much as the storm—the water seems to boil beneath him, but the torrential winds chill him to his bones. Instinctively, he reaches for his belt, but there aren’t any daggers there to grab.

Before he can even think of how stupid he was to leave them behind, a giant tentacle lashes out of the water. It snaps around Ignis in a heartbeat, locking in tight enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs. The suction cups along the bottom burn into him, searing right through his clothes and into his flesh, and Ignis rasps out an agonized scream. Then the tentacles lurches him forward, and Ignis is lost beneath the waves.


	8. Chalcanthite

Ardyn’s a patient man, and he lets his victory linger, savours it, just as he’s done all along—the entire week has been quite an entertaining show. Ardyn still knew how it would end. And he relishes that finish as he drags the little human farther out to sea, holding his head just beneath the water. It muffles the human’s screams, and Ardyn squeezes tighter, burns hotter, to make them louder. For a moment, he thinks of letting that be it: slaying the pathetic creature in one easy swoop. But that wouldn’t be _fun_.

So Ardyn lifts him again above the surface, cooing low over the wind, “You didn’t really think you would have a happy ending, did you? Little old _you_ , a useless, petty human with nothing but a tiny, crumbling shack to his name?”

The human splutters, coughing up salt water. His coiffed hair is flattened down about his face, beaten back in the heavy rain. Another flash of lightning lights up his scarring face, burned where the tip of Ardyn’s tentacle has dragged along his skin. His glasses are long gone, but soon, he’ll have no use for them. The rest of his clothes are tattered and disintegrating beneath Ardyn’s acid. The human’s a very sorry sight, but then, most of them are.

Ardyn clicks his tongue and taunts, “You should have had him while you had the chance, _Ignis_.” The human stirs at the sound of his name, recognition piercing through the haze of pain. Ardyn squeezes him like a rag doll, laughing, “Even you, so dreadfully unworthy as you are, could have had that little imp on the first night that he came to you. He doesn’t have the standards you do. He would’ve rolled right over, stripped himself, and spread those pretty legs that _I_ gave to him, all for the likes of _you_...” Another lash of his tentacle, and Ignis releases a strangled cry. Beneath it, Ardyn admits, “I would have kept my word, you know. But if you don’t come back from my storm... well, it looks a little too late for you, doesn’t it?”

Ignis lifts his head enough to glare, but he’s clearly damaged beyond words. Ardyn luxuriates in that. And he parts his lips to spill more taunts, but he’s cut off by a stabbing pain in his side that rips a low hiss out of his throat. He swivels around to where it came from, and a stray tentacle wrenches the offending dagger out of his side. Black blood oozes out of it, staining the already darkened water.

Another dagger flies for him, but Ardyn catches it this time, snaking a tentacle around the handle just before it hits his chest. Waist deep in the water, Noctis roars, “Let him go, Ardyn!”

Despite the remaining daggers clutched in Noctis’ hands, Ardyn can’t help his laugh. It feels good to hear that name on the prince’s tongue—even maimed and mangled into the wasted body of human, he’s still a pretty thing to look at. Soaked through with the rain, shirt hanging open and eyes burning nearly red, Noctis has never looked so _alive_. Originally, all Ardyn wanted was a plaything—one that would send chills down Regis’ spine. But the sight of Noctis now stirs a different hunger. He purrs to his future prize, “We did have a deal, Your Highness.”

“There’s still time!” Noctis argues, though Ardyn glances pointedly towards the darkened sky. The stars aren’t quite out yet, but Noctis couldn’t know that, as the clouds of the storm are shrouding everything. Noctis pushes, “Besides, it was me you’d get, not him! Let him go!”

Ardyn can’t help his chuckles. He has vague, distant memories of youth, of holding onto such _conviction_ over such trivial things. He thinks of crushing Ignis to dust right in front of Noctis, just to fan his flames to their height. But Ardyn figures that having such bait, even broken and scared as Ignis will now be, will be helpful for his future with the prince. He fully expects Noctis to be a difficult pet, but the promises of brief, heartbreaking visits with the human he gave it all up for might help to keep him in line. Besides, Ardyn doesn’t want to break Noctis _too_ much. It won’t be any fun if there’s no life left in him.

So Ardyn tosses the battered shell aside, and before Noctis can race after his poor human, Ardyn’s tentacles ensnare another target.

To his credit, Noctis fights, but most of the daggers drop in the commotion, and the one that doesn’t, Ardyn slaps away—he uses three dexterous tentacles to wrap Noctis up, drawing Noctis in, pulling the squirming prince up against him. Noctis swears, growls, glares at him, but Ardyn’s grip is unrelenting. He’s careful to hold back his acids, his heat, and not to burn Noctis’ delicate flesh, because there’s no sense in damaging his own things. When Noctis is held right in front of him, Ardyn hisses pleasantly, “You’re _mine_.”

“That wasn’t the deal—!” Noctis rages, as though he has any choice. 

“You weren’t getting anywhere anyway,” Ardyn indulgently counters. “But you should’ve known that. A week is much too short a time for anyone to fall in love with such a obstinate, snooty little brat.” Noctis’ eyes are cold fury. Ardyn makes a sympathetic noise. “And of course, Ignis Scientia is much too professional to jump into bed without that pretext. You see? You aren’t the only one observing these humans.” Noctis roars and writhes in Ardyn’s grasp, but it gets him nowhere. Ardyn does, at least, admire his spirit.

A gasp of breath draws Noctis’ attention—Ignis, stubbornly clinging to life, is bobbing in the waves, treading water—his feet must be _just_ missing the bottom. Ardyn lifts a tentacle, ready to push him down. 

The massive wave rises first, washing all three of them onto the sand.

* * *

Regis’ hand shakes with the effort of his ring, but the universe obeys it, and water rises over Ardyn’s, knocking Ardyn back again. The giant, sprawling array of tentacles polluting the water makes the man himself look twice as large, but Regis feels no fear of him, only fear for Noctis. And decades of regency have taught him better than to give into that. Instead, he channels all his rage, and he combats Ardyn’s storm.

The waters still around him, around his people, Gladio at his side and a dozen Crownsguard just behind him. He knows Prompto Argentum must be just beyond them—in the chaos and rush to reach the shore in time, there wasn’t room to hold him back. He came to Regis in tears, admitting the truth of the prince’s whereabouts with his head hung. Gladio’s thick hand rested on his shoulder. When Regis heard the news, his heart nearly stopped.

But then it surged back with new ferocity, and he uses that now. He’d thought the lingering storms remnants of his own rage, but the real culprit’s become clear. He bellows over it, “Release him, Scourge!”

“This?” Ardyn taunts, lifting Noctis up as his eyes focus onto Regis. The whites of them have gone, eaten up by pupil, and the pitch-black effect is disturbing in the extreme. Regis glares back anyway. Ardyn slowly detangles two of his tentacles from Noctis, leaving just the one around his chest, and what that reveals repulses Regis. He’d heard from Prompto, in broad terms, what Noctis had done. But _seeing_ his beloved child mutilated has a nauseating effect. Noctis’ stunning tail is gone. The skinny, pale human things left in its wake are appalling.

He tries to hide his reaction, but he knows he’s failed when Ardyn muses, “Are you sure you still want this one?” Noctis briefly pauses struggling, and even across the shallow distance, Regis can see the guilt on his face. Regis swims a fraction closer, and Ardyn squeezes tighter—Noctis’ anguished cry halts any more advances. Ardyn smoothly continues, “Given what’s become of your once-beautiful boy... you might want to consider making a new heir. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this one for you.” Ardyn’s smile is cruel and twisted. Regis has never hated anyone so much. 

Without even thinking, his hand flies out of the water, ring at the ready. Ardyn only pulls Noctis tighter against his side and reminds Regis in a sing-song voice, “Are you sure you want to use that, Your Majesty, while I still hold your dear son?”

Noctis shrieks, “Do it!” 

But Regis knows he can’t. It makes his stomach churn, being unable to do anything, but he knows how much damage those tentacles can do before the ring’s finished it’s job, and he knows that if Ardyn squeezes tight enough, the ring won’t hesitate to drain them both. It isn’t worth the risk. Regis’ hand tightens into a fist, nails digging hard into his palm. Ardyn’s grin is sickening.

Ardyn offers, “But if you still want him back... I wouldn’t be opposed to a trade.” One of Ardyn’s tentacles uncurls, reaching forward, as though Regis could possibly toss the Ring of the Lucii onto it. He’s weak enough that the thought is tempting, but he knows that isn’t an option. Ardyn says no more of it, as though he’d be perfectly happy to keep _Noctis_ instead. Beside Regis, Gladiolus growls. He can see how tense his other soldiers are in his peripherals. But they can’t do a thing.

Then, in a sudden boom of thunder, the stalemate’s shattered—Ardyn arches forward and _shrieks_. A bolt of metal is just barely visible over his shoulder, slicing right into the back of his neck, and on any other, the wound would surely shatter their spine. Regis knows Ardyn isn’t so easy.

But Ardyn doesn’t have to be. In that one second, his grip on Noctis loosens, and Noctis falls through, down to the beach, where another figure darts to catch him. Regis doesn’t wait to take that in. He thrusts the ring forward while Ardyn and Noctis are detached, and he channels its power forward. It erupts in an awe-inspiring cloud of deathly green, swarming out to Ardyn. All of the pity Regis felt in the past, the restraint he’d showed with such a powerful weapon, completely disappears. Over Noctis, he unleashes its full potential. Even Ardyn, the one other power that once stood against him, can’t withstand his will. 

In his last effort, Ardyn rears towards Noctis, left shaken on the beach, but the human who must’ve thrown the fatal blow dives protectively over Noctis. Then the ring bursts, and Ardyn’s drained husk slumps to the beach, slowly losing ink.

If such a thing can be killed, then it’s done. The black clouds seeps away into the water, and Regis knows there’s every chance that it’ll grow again, converge back into the Scourge that’s long haunted Regis’ borders. But in the moment, Ardyn’s subdued, and Regis shakily moves towards his on.

A blur of gold and scarlet speeds past him. Prompto’s huddled up with Noctis in a heartbeat, seemingly unfazed by what he’s become. Gladiolus swiftly joins them.

Regis follows, the Lucian army in his wake.


	9. Bismuth

Ignis is in awe.

He has been since he woke in a bed of well-lined coral, water all around him and filling his lungs. The long, mauve tail he’s been given shines silver in the light, his scales glinting with every shift of his new body. His skin itself, still covering the rest of him, is burned and scarred in so many places, but it’s difficult to focus on that change when his legs have disappeared. It’s still something he struggles to believe.

He swims as best he can, and it becomes easier with the passing hours. The man before him swims with such _confidence_ , a natural grace and perfect figure, but he kindly keeps a slow enough pace for Ignis to match him. As they pass another towering window, he pauses, and Ignis takes the moment to stare down at the vast city below. Lucis is the stuff of legends, a thousand times more artful than anything Ignis has ever seen. Regis waits indulgently, then asks, “Have you decided yet?” When Ignis looks at him, Regis specifies: “For your gift.” 

Ignis shakes his head, insisting, “You’ve already done so much.”

“I’ve done very little, considering how well you cared for my son when he was vulnerable and new to your world, and you saved him from the Scourge. I could never repay you enough for that.”

Ignis disagrees. He dips into a bow as best he can, though he’s still learning the balance of his body. He’s still accepting what Noctis really was—not just a merman, but a _prince_ , and his father is every bit a king.

As Ignis straightens, he gestures to his tail, murmuring, “This is more than enough. Allowing me passage into this beautiful kingdom of yours... and allowing me to stay with Noctis...” A second too late, he thinks better of mentioning that part. He’s all too aware that he and Noctis are still relatively new to one another, and it must seem absurd for a ‘commoner’—and worse, an _outsider_ —to be granted such access to a prince.

But Regis only smiles softly. “You know, I don’t normally use my magic for such things.” Ignis believes it. He still doesn’t know the full extent of the sea king’s power, but he gets the sense that it’s not to be used often or lightly. With a wistful look, Regis’ gaze trails out the window. An enormous arapaima drifts lazily by, and in the distance, two small children chase each other halfway to the surface. Regis sighs, “But I know that my son has been unhappy for some time. If you can remedy that, you’re welcome here.”

It feels like an honour just to be given the chance to _try_. Ignis promises, “I will do my best.”

“I know you will,” Regis muses, looking back with a special gleam in his eye. Ignis still can’t imagine why Regis has such faith in him, though he remembers seeing a blond boy, about Noctis’ age, speaking with the king that morning, and that boy blushed and quickly swam away when he saw Ignis coming. It gave him the distinct impression that they were speaking of _him_ , though Ignis is sure he’s never seen the blond before in his life. Regis continues, “Besides, it’s always good to have more people looking after Noctis, and evidently, you did so quite well.”

Ignis can feel his cheeks warming. He offers, “I did my best.”

Regis nods thoughtfully. He spends a moment just _looking_ at Ignis, and Ignis can feel that steady gaze outlining the ragged cuts of his scars. A hint of sadness seeps into Regis’ voice as he murmurs, “I only wish that I could heal your wounds as well... but the touch of the Scourge is a hard thing to counter.”

Ignis says, “I don’t mind them,” but what he means is that he hopes _Noctis_ doesn’t mind. The Ignis that he met on land was a very different physical being—all unblemished skin, crisp clothes, sharp glasses. Now he doesn’t even have a shirt to hide the red smears down his chest, and his face feels equally exposed. And his tail, as nice as it is, could never rival _Noctis’_.

But none ever could. Ignis has now seen his fair share of Noctis’ ethereal people, and as attractive as they all seem, none could ever come close to their prince. But that isn’t why Ignis cares for him, and he hopes that Noctis feels as deeply attached. 

They continue down the corridor, then, passing into a wider hall with twisting ramps and a single, heavy-set guard near the bottom. Through another two doorways, and they finally reach their destination. Ignis feels touched by the tour he was given, though brief, because surely Regis could’ve relegated that to someone far less important. Yet Regis himself escorts Ignis right back to Noctis’ chambers. 

They’re quiet as they pass through the first door, then through the curtains into his bedroom, where he still lies in rest, as deep in dreams as he was that morning. One merman sits on either side—a large brunet with a half-shaved head and an elaborate tattoo, and the skinnier blond covered in sunny freckles. The blond offers Ignis a sheepish smile, and the brunet offers, “He’s still asleep, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Gladiolus,” Regis answers. He remains just in the threshold.

But Ignis comes forward to float at the end of Noctis’ bed. He takes Noctis in again as he _truly_ is: the body he was born into, half adorned in jet-black scales. His ebony hair wafts lightly about his handsome face with the ebbing water. His long tail is curled up, his chiseled torso half turned to the side. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips—Ignis thinks he’s having pleasant dreams. 

The blond offers him a seat, and Ignis stays.

* * *

Noctis feels more at peace than he has in a long, long time. 

He can feel the familiar glow of sunlight filtered through the water and iridescent coral. He knows he’s _home_ before he even opens his eyes. The water’s all around him. But Noctis had thought he got away. 

He lets the dream slip off and lifts his lashes. It’s his room in the Lucian palace, just as he remembers it. Except that _Ignis_ is lying right beside him, curled up in his bed.

Noctis rises slowly, and for a moment, he thinks that he’s still dreaming. It _feels_ real, but he’s still alive and _whole_ —not some slave chained up in Ardyn’s cavern. And Ignis is sleeping peacefully, still very recognizable for all his differences. His glasses are gone, his clothes stripped away. His hair is no longer brushed up at the front, but left to wave with the water. A myriad of pink scars mar his upper body, twisting around one arm and over one eye. His legs are gone, replaced by a long, sleek tail of deep purple and silver. Noctis can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch it, stroking down the cool scales. He’d thought Ignis attractive before, irresistible even, but _now_... Noctis doesn’t even have the words. For a long moment, he just drinks that in. He can’t believe this man is _his_.

At least, Ignis must be. He’s become one of Noctis’ people, and he’s lying in Noctis’ bed. Noctis touches his trim shoulder, squeezing lightly, and mumbles, “ _Ignis_.”

It takes a bit more coaxing for Ignis to stir, but then his tired eyes open, and they widen more when they fix on Noctis. Ignis slowly sits up next to him. Noctis can’t contain his grin.

Ignis opens his mouth but doesn’t seem to know what to say, and Noctis understands, because clearly so _much_ has happened, and he’s missed all of it. He assumes that they must’ve defeated Ardyn. That his father must have discovered where he went. And clearly Ignis came out for the better. Those questions Noctis can ask his father later.

With Ignis, there and then, he says, “You look hot.”

Ignis’ cheeks flush, which only makes Noctis want him more. As Noctis reaches out to cup Ignis’ face, Ignis mutters, “The scars...”

“Don’t change that.” His thumb brushes gently over the one that mars Ignis’ cheek, and fortunately, Ignis doesn’t flinch away. Noctis can only hope that his father healed them as much as possible. He hopes they don’t hurt. He suggests, “They’re like proof of your bravery, taking on—” But then he remembers _why_ Ignis had to take on Ardyn.

Before Noctis can apologize, Ignis is crashing into him. The kiss is sudden and _fierce_ , but as soon as Noctis recovers from the surprise, he surges right back, hand rising to fist in Ignis’ hair and tail swerving over Ignis’, wrapping tight around it. When they part for air, Noctis manages a breathy, “I’m sorry. If I’d known he’d hurt you, I never would’ve gone to him...”

“I know,” Ignis tells him. “Your friends told me...”

“I’m sorry I lied to you. That I... deceived you.” He isn’t really, and he’d do it again for this outcome, barring the parts were Ignis was attacked. He can’t help but add, “But... if Ardyn had kept his promise and just waited until the end of that night, I think I would’ve won.” Ignis lifts a brow, and Noctis, blushing but saying it anyway, clarifies, “We would’ve... y’know. _Made love_. And then I would’ve been able to keep my legs and stay with you...”

Fortunately, Ignis doesn’t look offended by the stakes. He just brushes a lock of drifting hair out of Noctis’ eyes and promises, “I like you just as much without them. ...And I’ve always liked the sea.”

Noctis can’t seem to contain his grin. He relished his time in the new world, but if he’d known he could have Ignis _down here_... he can’t help a twinge of guilt for underestimating his father. He admits, “You make a pretty stunning merman too.”

Ignis lifts a brow, smiling, and Noctis presses them back together, returning to their heated kiss. Ignis meets him for it, just as eager. It feels a little different underwater, with it filling their mouths around their tongues, occasionally wafting Ignis’ soft hair against his temple, but the _feelings_ are just the same. Maybe magnified. He knew Ignis wanted him back. But Ignis doesn’t just _want_ him; Ignis _fought_ for him, learned all the truth of his lies, and still kisses him anyway.

Ignis shifts them, one hand rising to the back of Noctis’ neck as the other glides down his side, clutching at the jut of his hip, right where the scales fade out into skin. Ignis fingers that transition as he takes them down, back into the coral—Noctis stretches out along it and arches up into Ignis. His tail twists tighter around Ignis’, tangling up with it right to the very tips of their fins, and Ignis seems to have the same instinct—this must be his first time truly _intertwining_ with someone, but he curves into Noctis the same way, like he was meant to be there: like they’re a puzzle that fits perfectly together. It makes it easier for Noctis to rut them together—to rock up into Ignis’ body as he holds Ignis down.

The easiness of human parts is gone, but Ignis is more than enough to stir Noctis’ natural body. He can already feel his slit parting, his cock emerging, and when he finds the right angle to grind into Ignis, he thinks he can feel Ignis’ shaft coming too. Ignis pauses them for a moment, glancing down between them, but Noctis grabs his chin and pulls him back down. Ignis seems to accept it. Surely he feels the same as Noctis: that this all feels so _right_. He emerges faster than he ever has, filling out and hardening, and Ignis’ cock does the same. Every time they slide together, a spark of _pleasure_ ricochets through Noctis’ whole body. 

With their tails to secure them and their more malleable tails and pliant cocks making way for one another, Noctis creates an airtight bubble between their hips—squishes them together so hard that all the water slips away, and that _completeness_ of being glued to Ignis is a whole new ecstasy. He can feel each excited shiver that runs through Ignis’ body, and it’s all the more exhilarating for that—in a way, this is Ignis’ first. It’s Noctis’ too. But he knows just what to do—the animal part of his brain takes over, screaming for him to _be with Ignis_ as closely as he can.

Chained together at the hip, Noctis thrusts up, grinding harder, and Ignis does the same, meeting him right back. Their kisses go on, straying only when their mouths divert along each other’s faces—Noctis nips at Ignis’ jaw, mouths at Ignis’ throat, then inevitably finds his way back to Ignis’ lips. He can’t get enough of Ignis. Ignis grinds down into him with just as much passion. Noctis can’t last long under that.

A few more frantic kisses, and it’s all that he can take—Noctis muffles his cry in Ignis’ shoulder and holds on tight. He spills himself between them, his release squeezing along Ignis’ stomach, and only a second later, Ignis is following. He moans, long and deep, as he paints Noctis’ scales. The feeling of it slicking along his body is dizzying. Noctis can barely breathe. He’s in a haze of pure, unadulterated love. He won’t let Ignis go.

They stay like that for some time, loosening slightly, but still locked together. The water starts to lap between them, their mess breaking down and dissipating into it. Noctis stays pressed into Ignis’ shoulder, until a nagging thought reveals another regret: “I never got to make love as a human.”

Ignis chuckles softly and says, “I think we can manage.”

A sly grin flitters over Noctis’ face, because he knows he can make do. He returns shortly to Ignis’ mouth, and he shows his love the other side.


End file.
